


The Gift of the One

by ganonso



Series: Gift of the One [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 83,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6324478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganonso/pseuds/ganonso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 25 year old student dreams about a kingdom of rot and death, an encounter with death gods searching for an agent to clear their names among humanity. When he wakes up he's in an universe with heroes and villains battling. An universe he must warn of the coming threat while helping the young heroes to dispatch their enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily inspired by With this Ring by Mr Zoat the most entertaining SI in the DC universe yet. To be more precise it is inspired by WTR’s version of Donna Troy who gains special abilities by making offerings to different gods. A little cross-over with the roleplaying game Scion and tadah comes this fic. As English is not my first language, feel free to point out any spelling or grammar mistake.

Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 1

I hope I’m going to wake up soon for this is a lousy dream.

The darkness that surrounds me is not natural. It is not simply the deepest of pitch black, That you can imagine and see when you’re awake: the fur of a black cat by a moonless night, the color of deep space where you can see no stars. You can see this tint in natural things, wholesome things. Here this is different. I am surrounded in unnatural blackness; I drown in it. It feels like cold water above and around me, like acrid smoke choking my lungs. It is more than just an absence of light, it is cold that is more than absence of warmth. Feeling that reminds me on what I read about the Unlight of the spider-thing Ungoliant in Tolkien, except I see no webs.

Well I guess that means no more horror stories before going to sleep. From the sensations I’m guessing I’m having a nice normal nightmare, the kind where your brain is still awake and try to understand why the body won’t move. I should wake up in more…

LIFE DETECTED.

What is that? It seems the darkness is moving somehow. I feel weightless now, able to fly and run. That’s cool, my brain should have fallen asleep too and now I have a normal dream. I’m more lucid than usual but I should forget about everything when dawn comes.

SCANNING XILABA FOR SENTIENT BEING.

Wait. Xilaba? As in the “mayan underworld” Xilaba? As in “horrid place of death and decay whose lords were beheaded by our gods for being dicks” Xilaba? That’s worrying. And scanning for sentient beings? That reminds me of something. What I was reading, seeing or playing about darkness and scanning? Tolkien? No, that sounded mechanical, more SF than fantasy? Warhammer? Possible I could dream about Necrons but… A moment. Necron. Nekron.

I am having a nightmare about Blackest Night? The comic? Shit. Why can’t this be a normal DC dream where you bang Superman or a GL?

Since I’m lucid enough to not want a Black Power Ring attached to my dream self, followed by a zombie apocalypse, I dive downwards deeper in the darkness, hoping against all hopes, the ring won’t follow me if I leave this place. That seems to work, I’m falling more quickly with each instant, as if I’m becoming heavier.

I seem to have touched the bottom. No more absence of body. If I was younger, I would think I’m awake. I’m on a road with black (of course) stones bearing the inverted triangles and the lines. I see light ahead of my position. I lose no time before I start to run: All places are better than Nekron prison-tomb and most fates kinder than being a superpowered zombie bent on torture and omnicide.

TARGET ACQUIRED.

No! I won’t be a Black Lantern. That makes no sense. I am alive. Not resurrected by anyone. The ring should not consider me a viable candidate. Although, didn’t Superboy Prime got a black ring in one of the tie-ins. No that doesn’t count, he put it on his finger on his own free will and the process didn’t complete. I run on the black road, thanking whatever gods may be I have apparently no need to breathe in this dream.

Visions assail me as I escape, as if my perceptions were enhanced a thousand fold. I see the place I’m running from; A dark and forbidding pit sealed by a multicolored trapdoor. The road I’m in course between the bars. That makes less and less sense but I’m not critiquing my dream interior design. The spectrum bright door is the least offensive things about this place. I must not look, just dart and run and hope to be quicker than a power ring.

Still I see Xilaba and am sorely tempted to vomit on the floor. This place is a mess even by my imagination’s nearly inexistent standards. The things I see at the edge of my vision… Forests of rot grasping the sky, rivers of slime running in all directions. A sick sun long past its prime shining just enough to conceal nothing of the horrors below. By forest, river and plain, the whole thing is covered in undead. There seem to be no end to their number or their variety. They run the whole spectrum, from skeleton bleached white by the desert sun, to zombies so recent you’d think them alive. And this crowd move, capering, laughing, dancing, fighting even rutting together in scenes who could be normal or touching if they were not performed by decaying corpses.

This place is normal underworld. It can’t be. I know the standard classical interpretation of the Underworld was: place where the dead are stored but I don’t remember a place so disturbing in mythology. There’s too much life, too much inept imitation of the living. The places were the dead are decaying for eternity generally have them rotting on a shelf or something. Also what with the mythological mashup? I spy bat-monsters, I’m pretty sure are Mesoamerican, feasting with cheap copies of Nosferatu and corpses, in what I assume are, mandarin robes.

My pace slow. I’m arriving at a crossroad and no road seems to go above, to the outside Classic nightmare logic. I gaze behind me an instant, no ring in view but that means nothing. Counting the path I’m on, and I’m not walking in the other direction, there are five paths exiting from this place. Strange. None of the creatures appear to walk them. Enhanced perceptions. Could you tell me please what wait at the end of these roads?

Well it seems my wish was granted. Hope that won’t bite me later. Let’s see.

Southern path: Dull sickly yellow road leading to a pit filled with, is that spoiled milk? I hope it’s spoiled milk and not what I think it is. Ruined cities. Rotting jungles. Is that a zombie tiger? Yes, it is a zombie tiger, how charming. Nope not going here.

Western path: Black mirrored obsidian blades. Classy. It leads to a city with a Mesoamerican motif, perhaps Inca or Maya, I don't know enough to recognize the difference. Cluster of stepped pyramids. Images of a court of monsters laughing at something, two monsters playing ball with a, living screaming head, sure have your fun. Nope.

Northern path; White smooth bones leading to a boneyard. Of course, why not? This charnel house seems organized somehow, walls and roads and streets leading to the center… Where someone or something is busy crushing them all to slime. Nope.

Eastern path: Sticky red substance that is probably blood leading to… A field of poppies surrounding a little house? Let’s go there, it seems less dangerous than the others destinations, at least.

I put my feet on the bloody path and sense them becoming sticky. Oh. Apparently it is one of these “I’m naked” nightmare as well. Lucky me. Flipping lucky me. I bet I’ll wake with a strong urge to take a shower, or two. Still I can walk it. It is tiring, unnaturally so but I resist. Sleeping here could wake me up but I’d prefer not bathing in coagulated blood if that’s possible so I power through.

Not long after I see the house and the poppy field. Black poppies whose scent is unbearably sweet. The house seems to have been built for a giant but it is strangely plain. Greco-Roman style, classic pillars. Not a trace of adornment except the statues of two winged youths and a woman with a robe of stars.

I kneel at the threshold muttering: “Hail lord or lady of this house whose name I know not. Please don’t take ill of my presence in your home but allow me to pass unharmed” Well now that’s done, let’s seek a way outside.

Willingly I step in the darkness of the house. Not the blackness of my dream’s beginning. There’s something enticing in this night, something who lulls the mind and invite to let go of all burdens. Slowly I succumb to its call, resting my soaked body on the cold pavement, thinking the two youths at the entrance should be known to me. Winged youth sons of the night, that rings a bell. Hypnos and Thanatos! That’s who these guys were and we’re in a place of death.

How well. At least Thanatos was somewhat understood to be the patron of non-violent demise if I remember well, something with his link to sleep.

I should wake up in a few minutes and forget about all of this.


	2. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 2

This place seems better than the one I just escaped.

Escaped is not the right word. I remember falling into the embrace of black-winged Thanatos after escaping into his house. Even by the fuzzy standards of dream-logic I should be dead, not transported to some other locale.

Is this a dream though? It must be. People are not snatched from their beds to become the toys of omnipotent beings. If what I saw is real, if there's any possibility it's real and waiting for some of us at the moment of our demise, I shall never sleep again.

Perhaps I am dead. This would explain how I ended in this sick parody of afterlife. No, that's not possible. Even if I were dead in my sleep, my soul would not have been claimed by Nekron of all beings. I would have been carted off to hell immediately.

Am I sure this place is not Hell? It could look like it from a distance: a pale sun giving no warmth thrones in a grey sky. The ground is made of precious metals, gold, silver even platinum crumble into bright dust as I walk forwards. The air is heavy with whispers, so heavy I can feel the resistance at each of my steps. Where did Thanatos bring me?

I pass ghost towns as I walk. Like in the previous dream, a mish-mash of ages and epochs. I see churches in ruin, their bells rusting in silence, ransacked streets leading nowhere, blocks of stone, parts of buildings long since returned to dust. Wraiths of towers, shadows of monuments so eroded by time's caress you'd believe they were natural. In the cracks of their structures vine and pomegranate flourish, in their shade owls and bats nest near each other.

It is beautiful, in its own special way: humanity great works returning to the dust they were raised from. I see tombs, each with its ghost floating above. They come from all ages of humanity, some are so old I don't recognize them while others seem to have been made from plastic and glass.

Will I see your tomb next or even you, father? It must have been months since I've dreamed about you. Will it been displayed openly or hidden in a corner, simple setting element I won't remember? No importance. The only thing I can do in there is to walk and hope to wake up soon.

I hear water running. A river? Would be appropriate I suppose. My subconscious seems really to love clichés tonight. I wonder what dreaming of tombs means. Something like: "great changes and melancholy" I wager.

There it is. A river like I thought. Not normal but not seemingly dangerous. I know as we all know in dreams water is not that shade of pale blue, nor it is meant to emit phosphorescent grey light this way. I pass my fingers along the surface. Icy but not poisonous. At least I hope. What's beyond is hidden in mists.

The first step is painful. Not the familiar caress of ice, no. It is something more insidious, a chill to freeze the heart and the mind not the flesh. I advance and I weep for each step brings back memories of shame and sorrow. How many memories do I count before walking on the other shore? I don't know. I don't want to know. What I remember now is that among the rivers of the Greek underworld is Cocytus: the River of Tears.

I am in Hades. That's both good and bad news. Only the worst criminals are condemned to Tartarus so that's that. However, I doubt that even if died my family would have put a silver coin in my mouth to pay Charon. So I'm an intruder in the domain of a god who does not suffer trespasses. Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.

A path is provided as always in this situation. Its tiles are of gold but I doubt they lead to Oz. I pass the usual sights of the underworld: Dark woods where the shades of suicides weep for their forsaken bodies, bogs and mires where the only flowers are the pale lotus and asphodel. Great fields of asphodel where man shaped shadows stand and drift aimlessly in the stale air. This is not a place of torment but extreme boredom if these shades are sentient. In a way it is sadder that's way because there is no justice in this. Just a long fading in a sleep-like state for those who did not become famous and lauded by their peers.

There are worse fates than this, I'm sure of that. Better fates too.

At last I see my destination. A great palace shining more than the false sun in the air. Silver, jade and gold, jasper and sardonyx are its walls, its domes and gates. I'm sure if I knew more about chemistry I would see more nuances, more colors adorning this place. Classical columns support a pediment engraved with scenes of a great war whose details I can scarcely made out.

A war against progenitors, against children, siblings and brothers. A war of fire, lightning and ice against the very creators of the world, against those who are prophesied to end it. The defeated falling like stars from their high thrones to be imprisoned in bleak Tartarus, some going into darkness willingly, most being forced to by spear and sword.

What did the Phantom Stranger say to Tim Hunter in the first Book of Magic comic? Something like the past is only a point of view and that history is mutable. Well that's certainly true in D.C. Crisis after crisis the universe is remade. So I suppose the Titanomachy could be a thing here.

I walk to the great threshold and kneel before the two…

Wait a second. They are more than two. Much more than two. In the darkness of the gate I see their thrones aligned on multiple ranks. So many faces. Some I recognize. A facies graved in emerald: Osiris. A jackal-headed man holding the cross of life: Anubis. The black-haired master of this place and his pale lady: Hades and Persephone. They are all here. The gods of death are all here. So many faces I don't identify, skeletons, ice-clad ladies, even a woman covered by mane of tangled hair so deep I can't see through.

They are terrifying in their immobility. I can sense their power even if they don't move, sending shivers down my spine. And, as it is normal and natural to worship what one's fears, I fall to my knees, head against the dust and mutter a feeble prayer.

"Lord Hades and you Lady Persephone master of these lands and guardians of the dead of my homeland. Lord Anubis and Osiris, guides and lord of the dead in the starry fields of paradise. Lady Hel who waits every mortal end. And you whose name and titles I ignore. I beg of you to forgive me for any offense I l may have caused you and to not judge me too harshly for I did good while I was on Earth."

"THAT'S DEBATABLE MORTAL" [color=transparent] HE'S AN APT CANDIDATE THOUGH. [/color]

What? What is this voice. Like bones cracking and water falling, like plants growing and wind blowing. Do they speak in chorus or what? Their voice fills my mind with images like it was something more than sound, more than simple speech.

"YOU DID NOTHING OF IMPORT ON EARTH, FOR GOOD OR ILL." _HE IS TAINTED THOUGH. WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT._

Subconscious, that's a low blow. Please stop. Dreams are not supposed to lower your self-esteem even if this is completely true. I still babble something like "Who are you?" before they answer with a chuckle.

"WE ARE THE GODS"

Temples filled with offerings, crowds of worshippers kneeling, sacrificing, praying, thanking, begging. Tribute of marble, of precious stones, of flesh, of silk and many other sweet things.

"WHO HOLD DOMINION OVER THE GRAVE." _REVILED AND MOCKED AND SCORNED FOR FAULT NOT OUR OWN._

High domains and proud kingdoms. Shades falling in the ocean, passing the rivers, on boat, sprouting like weeds, always in the shadow of great wings forever flapping, forever beating. Realms of delight for the virtuous, fields bordering the green river of forgetfulness, gardens under starlight tending by ghostly servants, blissful chambers of uninterrupted sleep. Realms of waiting where shades fade under the trees or in the mud, neither blessed or punished, just separated of the world and gazing on their dread lords with terrified awe. Realms of punishment beyond human reason, places of justice full of fire and gnashing of teeth, of cold and blood and blades. Realms essential to the multiverse's ecology but rarely liked.

"YOU KNOW THE STORM THAT IS COMING. YOU ALREADY ESCAPED ONE OF OUR ENNEMIES TO COME HERE] _SUCH LUCK WILL SERVE US WELL_

No. No. Nope. I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this. Lousy dream, end, now. I don't want to remember that. I don't want to think about that. Quick, distract them.

"The dream I dreamt just before? How could have I escaped that place?"

"A TORCH CAN'T ENTER A PAPER HOUSE WITHOUT SETTING IT ABLAZE, BUT A SPARK CAN." _NOT UNSCATHED THOUGH_

Cryptic nonsense is cryptic but whatever, let's continue.

"If this place was real that means you are in a world of heroes. I'm sure they could help with any of your problems. You don't need me for anything, do you."

Something like a laugh, harsh and cold fills the air.

"THIS WORLD IS FULL OF HEROES, TRUE ENOUGH"

More images I recognize: Wonder Woman with her armor casting Ares from the sky, Batman brooding on a gargoyle watching his city, Superman wrestling some kind of Alien, the Flash against the rogues, red lightning against heath and cold, Hal Jordan battling Sinestro, green against yellow light. I've fallen on one of DC's "normalish" earths. Wonderful:

"HOWEVER THEY DEFEND THE LIVINGS. THE DEAD RECQUIRE AN ADVOCATE."

Do they mean me? Ok I had my doubts but I definitively dream. No way a council of gods would pick a slightly overweight 25's year student to serve them. Especially not if they had access to DC's population. I mean, they could select what-its-name the Black Adam kid who was resurrected in Brightest Day or any number of teen heroes that exist. Hell! Superboy died once if I remember well, why not a Kryptonian champion? Would be more useful than old me.

On the other hand, that would be interesting if not fun. One more superhero would not change everything and besides it's a dream. I could use some good old fashioned, you as super reverie after this night. As if they sensed my approval of the idea, I sense myself being lifted in the air, arms and legs spread as Their gazes burn into my flesh.

"SUCH ENTHUSIASM IS VERY MUCH APPRECIATED MORTAL."

And then the pain begins.

My legs and arms are spread around and my skin is parted. I'm spread in directions not perceivable by mortal mans, every cell and every thought and every speck of energy left bare for their probing attention. Sometimes they see something they don't like and sense my essence be cut and burned and branded, forced to adapt, forced to change. They reach my dreams; they reach my memories but let them untouched. They sculpt me with hammer and chisel, sometimes erasing entire parts whose use I don't know, sometimes destroying a stray cell with absolute minutiae.

Then, when they judge they have taken enough, they give and it's perhaps worse. Whispers invade my mind, filling it with secrets I don't want, knowledge I refuse, magic unfit for any man My eyes! What are they doing to my eyes? I feel them boiling as if they replaced them with living fire. Probing fingers poke my bones, scratching them with patient care, writing upon them perhaps.

My limbs quake and shivers, trying in vain to escape their grip. Am I having a seizure in my bed and suffering it in the dream? My hands seem to multiply until I'm like a Hindu god with each hand holding a weapon or a sacrament. Something is forced between my clanking teeth, protecting my tongue. They put something on my head, cold and harsh. Why am I still conscious? Why am I still conscious? Burned and cut and probed and changed, and still I am awake. Make it stop! Make it stop! I beg of you. Masters, I…

My prayer is apparently heard for they cease and they put me, gently, softly on the floor. Please, I want to wake up, I want to wake up now. Pain is replaced by drowsiness and I fall once more into sleep


	3. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 3

SLAUGHTER SWAMP, NEW JERSEY

JUNE, 20 2010: 6.00 AM

What it is the American say? Third time’s the charm. That’s true in my case I think. If that was the first time I woke up in a strange place this night, I would think this is a messed-up dream. Now? After having travelled through hell and Hades to this place, I’m ready to consider all I lived before as real.

That’s not a comforting new. That’s not a comforting new at all. DC’s Earth is one of the most dangerous place I can imagine and for the look of it, I was not dragged to plain old France where at least there are no crisis and supervillains.

Also more importantly, that means the agony earlier has all chances to be real as well. I’ve entered the service of gods. I hope their blessings will be worth the pain. I guess Captain Marvel powerset should be compensation enough but I’m not very hopeful.

I rise from the muddy ground, quickly checking if nothing is amiss. Thank the gods, I’m not naked anymore even if I doubt the black toga I’m wearing would be considered decent clothing. From the look of it, I have still all my body parts and I’m still human-looking, at least in general shape. I’ll need a mirror to see if my skin has not taken a strange hue or I didn’t had a case of “obligatory cosmetic superhero makeover”.  Unfortunately, a rapid touch at my belly convinces me I’m still overweight and without an ounce of muscle. Could be a problem.

I still have no idea on where I am except it’s a swamp. I suppose it would have killed the gods to transport me to the local graveyard or anywhere I could get my bearings straight. The dawn breaks in the East and it inspires in me neither fear nor disgust. Good that means they didn’t transform me into a vampire or another evil-looking creature.

“What would we do such a thing?”

I jump by reflex. The words sound like they are directly whispered in my ear, a clearly masculine voice that sounds both sweet and mocking, but there’s no one around me. Telepathy? Invisible and intangible being? Neither possibility sounds too good.

“Spare me your quivering. I’m in you and speaks from your mind’s depth. It’s rather comfy in here. At least when you’re not shitting yourself in abject fear.”

In me? How? They inserted it! They inserted that thing in me during their little torture session on the other side!

“Your grasp of the obvious is astonishing. But I feel we’re taking a wrong start. I’m here to advise you and help you in your quests. For this purpose, I was created and placed in your head. And before you ask, no I can’t control or influence your thoughts. You still have your free will.”

Awesome. I get a snarky advisor as my sidekick. Truly the gods have blessed me beyond mortal dreams. I focus my thoughts towards the voice, managing a thought-sentence.

“What are you what’s your name?”

“I’m nothing of importance. When humans want to do something, they create tools. When gods want to do the same thing, they create servants. I guess you could consider me a more talky version of a Motherbox. As for my name: _Sub Julio I was born, in the time of false and lying gods_. They didn’t give me, only my function. After browsing your mind, I think I quite like the sound of Vergil. I’m here to guide you after all.”

Vergil it is then, which would make my probable super-hero name… I sincerely hope this parallel has not a Devil May Cry franchise or that could become very embarrassing.

“So Vergil. Do you know where we are?”

“You don’t recognize the place? Strange but I suppose the gods’ gifts are nothing without the instinct to use them. Say what. Focus your eyes to see what’s beyond the material world and you will have your answer.”

Focus my eyes? How the hell do I do that? I sigh and decide to concentrate on looking on a large patch of mire in front of me. At first I don’t see anything except the mud, the dead wood floating in brackish water, but, after a minute or two of making my eyes ache, that changes.

The light of the rising sun is dimmed while some sort of vapor emanates from the swamp. Indistinct shapes dance at the edge of my visions, wisps popping in and popping out at regular intervals. Then comes the flow of images: I see a man richly dressed fall into the mud, his throat has been slashed open. The swamp energies bathe his corpse from years, turning gold to white, human frailty to undead strength, cruel intelligence to base cunning. At last he rises, the mire both his grave and the crucible of his terrible rebirth.

Well I guess that answers it. If I saw the birth of Solomon Grundy, I must be in Slaughter Swamp somewhat near Gotham. Seeing the deaths that occurred in a particular place could be useful for detective work but if my only power is being a glorified medium, I’ll be somewhat cross. Well only a way to find out.

“Vergil, what are my powers and what I must do to keep our masters happy.”

“Unfortunately, the answer to both questions is: I don’t exactly know. To be fair I think none knows yet the answer to the first one. Being empowered by a dozen or so of mighty gods is not something that happens that often.

I can at least give you the basics. As you saw you can see the outskirts of the realm of the dead, you can also affect things there and enter it with minimal efforts. That’s your normal everyday power. Now you can pray to a god to obtain a watered down version of his own abilities and panoplies. I’m not sure how exactly they will express themselves, but it’ll certainly enough to make you a hero. The powers will pass with the rising or setting of the sun and the moon.

More important it’s when you’ll connect to a god that I will be able to relay their wished and commands to you. As far as I was briefed most want you to protect the world, gain them worshippers, do good deeds in their name and so on.”

“Any of these gods who’d grant super-speed or flight”

“Lord Vayu of the Yazata is also god of the wind and the breath. He should do the trick, just pray and feel his power fill your veins.”

Just pray? Easier said than done, especially when I don’t know the form of address or the titles of the deity in question. Well, who risks nothing…

“Lord of the breath, lord of the wind. Vayu that blows on the dead and return their mortal breath to those who had given it. I implore you to show me favor and give me the power to serve you in all things.”

For maybe three minutes, I feel nothing, then a burning sensation in my belly, going up and up until my tongue seems to be on fire. An unnatural wind rises around me, coils around me, both strike and caress. Moved by something I don’t understand I raise my hands to lower them filled with a golden pommeled sword. The toga I wore has become chainmail, gold and silver chainmail moving with its own life.

It doesn’t hurt anymore. Whatever the sensation is, it is glorious. I feel the air around me, conscious of each breeze’s movement. I see the swamp for what it could be. A beautiful place where the dead would return to nature, not the polluted abomination it presently is. In my mind I hear Vergil’s whispering what could be prayers.

“We are servant of truth, telling no lies. We fight against injustice and corruption when our gaze meets them and we’ll deal with them as swiftly as the wind you command…”

Truth. Yes, I understand, the gods of ancient Persia were devoted to the concept to an extent few pantheons are or were. I truly hope lord Vayu tolerates associating with masked vigilantes because most of the Justice League have secret identities and thus lie.

That’s no important for now. I jump in the air and doesn’t fall back. I trip a lot as I ascend, finding the very wind is solid for my feet and I can command it to be a path for me. Strange, I don’t fly, not like the heroes I saw on TV or in comics. I walk in the sky without expanding much effort. The closest analogue I can find is these flat escalators you see sometimes in airports. Not the fastest way to go but way less tiring than simply walking around.

I walk upwards until I can see the buildings of Gotham in the horizon. With trust I jump from my cloudy perch, bend my knees as I propel myself forward in the classical position of flying superheroes. I’ll need a few tries to become proficient in this, but feeling the air around me as I push towards the city make even this first awkwardness worth it.

I should arrive in Gotham in an hour top. I wonder how the city looks in broad uncloudy daylight.


	4. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 4

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 4  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
JUNE, 20 2010: 3.00 P.M

It was a time I would have called Gotham as the very definition of unrealistic. A city so riddled in crime it collapses on itself in the absence of a lone vigilante and his adopted family. A city both decaying and wealthy slowly rotting in the water of its harbor while crime ran rampant in the deserted streets. No way it was possible screamed my child’s mind. The whole thing could not have run itself, people would have left, industries would have closed, life would have become unsustainable. It was before I learned of the world, before I understood how, in places like this, criminals tend to bring order, mostly because chaos is bad for business and dead men pay no debt.

Still it’s the seventh unmarked grave I dug up since my arrival in the city and I know there’s a lot more. This one was clumsily buried in the corners of an abandoned ACE CHEMICALS building. While I lay him on the ground, I’m surprised by my feelings or rather my lack of. It’s one thing to have Vergil pontificate on how the gods have burned the horror of death from my mind, but experiencing it is another thing entirely, a much more disquieting thing.

It’s not that I find it beautiful. The corpse is barely even recognizable as a male after all this time. The skin is black from decay and I can perceive the faint shapes of the colony of worms that nest in what remains of his lungs. His face was damaged before his death, the skin burned by some kind of acid who left marks on the rest of the body. I see a network of scars running along muscled arms, forgotten shapes of old tattoos still visible even after death. He wore something reddish in color, even if it’s difficult to tell from clothes as badly stained as these. No I don’t find it beautiful at all.

Neither I am wholly indifferent towards the body. I don’t consider it like you can consider a slab of meat on the market place. It is not only a carcass of rotten flesh deserving no attention. It housed the spark of human consciousness, it was human just like me and so it deserves to be treated and send off ritually. Burying, burning or leaving our people to the crows is what distinguishes us from most animals.

Now if his wraith could only shut up for a minute, I could do just that like I did with the six previous ones. I swear these ghosts understand their bodies are the only things that tether them to the world and they don’t want to go. They don’t understand they stayed only because the treatment of their mortal coil was so wrong they couldn’t let go.

Death comes to us all and it not the dead places to linger where they have no place.

Still I feel no disgust in ordering the wind to carry the body for me, no revulsion at the thought of what I’m going to do. No primal connection between my ultimate fate and his. No sickness in the heart or the belly at the sight of his open wound and wormy innards. I could walk to mass grave and simply think of the most efficient way to treat the bodies there with respect.

When I arrived in Gotham, I found the city fair under the bright sun. As a normal comics’ fan I was aware of the corruption running beneath the streets and in the shadows. Still, in my home parallel I never went to the U.S so I lost myself quite a bit among the tall buildings and the busy streets. I thought I would quickly be arrested for being a chainmail wearing, sword-bearing guy but, in this world, apparently my get-up screams “new vigilante” rather than “budding supervillain”.

I suppose that says something on the universe if anybody can walk off the street and proclaim themselves a vigilante. Coming from a country where centralized power is the way to go for centuries, I don’t think that’s very wise but apparently people like it. Perhaps it is a Gotham thing. Perhaps things are so hectic one more freak can’t be worse.

Still I managed to obtain some info from news kiosks and broadcasts: The Justice League of this parallel has more in common with the Unlimited version than the team of seven of the first seasons. They are a rather young organization, having formed seven years ago to fight an alien invasion. The Justice Society is no longer active but Wonder Woman was a member beating the record of “longest serving superhero.” Dick Grayson is still a young teen so I guess he’s still Robin.

And of course it is 2010 so in addition to moving to another world I have been dragged six years into the past. I don’t know what to think of that. I have not been translated to my seventeen years old self so I guess it’s ok but still I wonder if it’s a real time difference or just an incoherence with calendars.

I was still wondering when I perceived them for the first time.

Having the gift of second sight is strange. While I had problems activating it in the swamp, in Gotham I have the inverse problem. It activated two hours after my arrival and I can’t manage to stop it. I see shapes of old buildings superseded with more recent constructions. Some seem to be cloaked in shadows, others nearly invisible. And on them and around them crawls the crowd of unquiet shades who are apparently my responsibility.

Most, nearly all of them are unable to affect the world of the living in whatever fashion. Thank the gods for small mercies, the barrier between the world beyond and the world of flesh and bone is solid here. I was attracted by some of them who appeared to stand still above some locations, moaning softly. I got to one of them and discovered my first Gotham corpse.

A stolen shovel later and I was engaged in my merry round of bringing the dead above.

The first one I simply called these brave men and women of the GCPD, not sticking around to see if they did their job after I did part of mine. Vergil was very surprised at the notion of letting the proper authorities handle a freshly killed corpse but didn’t object to my sticking to obviously criminal corpses afterwards.

“You are not very efficient. I’m sure we could have managed twice the number if you were quicker,” quips Vergil in my mind, taking me out of my reverie I try to modulate my thought voice in a scolding tone before answering but I’m not sure I got the trick yet.

“Lord Vayu has not judged fit to give me strength beyond the dreams of mortal man and his preferred method of disposal take time. Or would you prefer I content myself with taking their last breath and leaving them to rot?”

No answer, of course. I use the wind to climb to the roof of the ransacked building laying the corpse in front of me. Now comes the disgusting part, or at least the part that should be disgusting to me.

I approach my mouth to the corpse’s, fortunately it is already open, no need to break it open for this one. I take an inspiration and breathe deeply sensing a breeze that shouldn’t be here emanate from the ruined life. The ghost has at last ceased his screaming and I surrender to the deluge of impression given by the man’s final death. Not many things, just pain, acid and laughter but still enough to identify him as a former accomplice of the Joker killed by one of his boss’ many practical jokes.

Well next part then. I hold my sword tightly and begins to hack the corpse to pieces. Not an easy task even considering my magical blade. I know I will have to do it again in a few minutes anyway. I cast my head towards the sky and let go an anguished screech.

And they answer in the moment. Crows, ravens and other carrion birds come in a cloud of black wings. They surround the ruined bodies, each taking his fill. It takes time to separate the rotten meat from the ruined bones. Like the five previous times, I regret not having the tools to properly render the body a neat mound of meat like in true traditional sky-burials.

I have to summon the birds three more times after having hacked the remaining bones to smaller and smaller pieces before they leave nothing of note. There neither fire nor earth are polluted with the presence of death and balance restored.

“What are we doing now?”

“I’ll do this one more time, then a bit of rest before thinking about a way to attract heroic attention in a proper fashion.” A foolish, foolish thought make its way to my head. “Say what do you say about a meeting with Batman at his home? Impressing him would be a good first step towards acceptance.”


	5. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 5

Episode 1 Kneeling Day part 5:  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
JUNE, 20, 2010, 8.00 P.M

“Your plan is insane.”

You know what’s annoying: Having a nicely constructed project in your head and having someone destroy it. The worst part is I know Vergil is right. This is a risky plan all-around and it involves being in pain for quite a while. It could totally work though and at the end the League would have to know I’m perfectly trustworthy or at least not dangerous. I can offer them a versatile power package with competences they don’t have in quantity. While Batman and the Flash are supremely gifted detectives, the capacity I demonstrated to discover hastily buried bodies even after decades could be damn useful to an investigating organization.

“I don’t contest that part. I’m contesting the part where you think sneaking in the sanctum of a known paranoid will be interpreted as a sign of competence, and the part where you end being beat up for your presumption and possibly antagonizing the chosen of the Theoï in the process. I especially contest the part where the whole reason for this course of action is your desire to see if you can defeat a known superhero or his sidekick in stealth or battle making this a simple matter of hubris.”

“Batman could not be home and we’re be meeting with Alfred…”

“Much better then. It’s not even using the glorious gifts of the gods to pick a fight you can’t win but using them to sneak around a doddering old butler. A truly worthy usage of your might, a display worthy of the legends of old. ”

I’m scolded by the thing, the gods implanted in me to serve me. I don’t think that meant to happen.

“I’m here to advise you, child, not to watch blindly while you go merrily running into a cliff. If this city hero is so difficult to approach, why not go see another?”

“Even with lord Vayu’s gifts it would take at least a day to reach another protected city. As the gods have, in their wisdom, not see fit to grant me money or free me from human frailties such as hunger I’m going to need to get attention soon or begin to steal at least a minimum.”

“So that leaves two solutions: The authorities or the attention-seeking actions.”

“Like what exactly? Building giant statues of our masters for all to see? Or a great temple complex just outside the city. That would make the League go ballistic on me. Even if I admit it could be fun.”

The scene plays out in my mind. I use the powers of an earth-associated god to order pillars and columns and great idols of bronze and white stone to sprout from the very ground. As I place the capstone on the greatest edifice, an angry team of heroes come to ask me what I’m doing.

Bad idea if the plan is to avoid getting beat up by heroes. I don’t know the Justice League of this parallel but I’m sure the answer to religious buildings appearing overnight would be to kick first and asks questions later.

As for contacting the authorities.

“So you want me to go to a police department who fights costumed freaks for most of the time and says I want to see the commissioner. They’ll shoot me dead before I finish speaking and knowing their enemies, they would be mostly right. You said yourself lord Vayu’s didn’t make me impervious to man-made weapons.”

“Then pray to a god of endurance if you have so little trust in your own skill. Hades, Hel or the Baron are known for their stamina”

True, true, that should make me more difficult to kill at least. So which one? Hades? No, black toga, helmet of invisibility and bident don’t strike me as the most innocuous clothing and earth manipulation strikes me as a quick way to cause an accident. Hel? No even if I’m not struck with the “half rotten” deformity I’d prefer invoke a notoriously cranky goddess after having warned fellow heroes of my abilities. The Baron is better, an American deity in his own right. Perhaps I could meet with some of his worshippers. Gotham should have a Voodooist community or at least people recognizing the Baron ritual garb for what it is.

What do I remember of the Baron? God of death and disease, master of the ancestor spirits, something to do with health and disease. Wait health? Healing powers are rare in the comics, the only medic I remember is Doctor Midnight and it seemed every ailing hero was brought to him. This could also be a surest way to get to the League without risking anything.

And if I get only an authority on disease and sickness? That would be less useful sure but I’m not worried. In every mythology those powers spreading blight and pestilence can stay their hands at will or drive away the plague.

Plus, I’m remembering Baron Samedi as being described as a joyful god, surely happier than dour Hades and sad Hel. After a day passed to tending to the dead a bit of fun will not be too much.

I slowly rise from my hiding place. After having sky-buried my eighth corpse, jolly work that was, I explained my plan to Vergil. It was meant to be simple really: Pray to Lord Hades and gain the helmet of invisibility he’s famed for in addition to the capacity to manipulate earth and sense my location underground. Then use these capacities to sneak in the Batcave, revealing myself to Batman or Alfred. Vergil’s screams, even if I know I was the only one to hear them pushed me to seek an abandoned building in Gotham’s Narrows, near my final tended corpse, to argue my case. I did not expect this creature to show itself so stubborn, and to convince me so quickly of my true reasons to act like this. Truthfully, the last two hours arguing was more the sheer sake of it than any sensible reason.

I’m still hungry though, the belly aches having long been replaced with the familiar nausea. Unfortunately for me none of the bodies I tended had loose change in their ruined clothes. Indeed, they were quite picked clean of material possessions. Well I suppose it’s the way of all cities.

While I look at the life that prosper there, I can’t keep myself to feel sad. While I don’t doubt than Batman crusade against crime is benefitting this city in the long and short run, the sheer number of homeless I’m seeing doesn’t put a good view of his efforts to improve his city. They are certainly more numerous than at home and in worse state. While we have our share of beggars, that wasn’t until recently we saw amputees and really sick people in number in the streets. Here? I’m halfway thinking I lost myself in a Victor Hugo novel and contemplates the Court of Miracles reborn. Here in the Narrows I saw people without an eye, an arm, a leg, suffering from all sort of pathologies and some I’m pretty sure imitate these pathologies because it makes begging more efficient. Story as old as time really.

Gotham gleaming appearance is nothing but a shell even after more than a decade of Waynetech investments, traditional factories still sits abandoned, home to vagrants and criminals. Apparently the city was quite famous before the end of the 70’s for its toys and circus apparatus. Strangely I think that explains much on how the Joker and the others can create their branded items so easily, there’s still a considerable stock to plunder and customize.

The city didn’t recover from their factories closing and a very disproportionate population of criminals and vagrants existed since. Bruce Wayne does everything he can to reduce both these numbers but the freak criminals of Gotham make the city a nightmare to invest.

Which explains why I got thirty homeless in walking distance. Still that’s not a number I would have imagined back home. Sure most of them are not really homeless, if you consider squatting abandoned apartment complexes is not homelessness but still they give me an idea for attracting the attention of the Justice League, or more urgent, get myself a bit of food and place to stay for the night.

So I trace figures in the dusty street while reverting to my own native French to summon the Baron’s power:

“Je vous salue Baron Samedi et loue votre nom. Dieu des esclaves, dieu de la liberté après la mort , patriarche des Ghédés je vous prie de m’accorder vos faveurs. Dieu des fêtes et des sabbats attendant à chaque carrefour, je vous invoque avec votre nom et votre pouvoir.

Hail Baron Samedi and hallowed be your name. Slave god, god of the final freedom, patriarch of the Ghedés I pray and asks for your favor. God of the party, of the sabbats waiting at each crossroad between this world and the next I invoke your name and your power.”

While Vayu’s touch was a bright sensation filling my chest to jump outside at the rhythm of my breath, the Baron’s grace is both more primal and more joyous. Music fills my ears like drums and jazz, and flutes, furious dance and mournful dirge. I feel something flowing down my throat, burning like alcohol all the way down. I jump in the open street, I dance and laugh as my clothes change once again, becoming a smoking, a white shirt and a top hat. In my hands a skull headed staff is placed and I continue to dance, slow and mocking until the transformation is complete.

Vergil’s voice is now whispering sweet mischief in my brain, suggesting gross practical jokes, some are really tempting, others like filling every seventh needle with AIDS very much less so. He confirms what I thought, I can heal people with that power. That requires of course some of my energy but a little fatigue is small cost for being able to play Jesus.

Of course I immediately sense the limits of such an ability: Purging toxins and sealing wounds are easy, but regrowing entire limbs or actively destroy an ongoing disease, that’s beyond my reach.

“But not of mine.”

The voice that resounds in my head is not Vergil’s. Indeed, I sense him cowering in the recesses of my mind, muttering prayers to ours masters. Of course I remember now. The Loa are known to possess their devotees when they want it. I suppose there are worse fates than to treat directly with a death god, voice to voice. I manage to answer to the god.

“Greetings Baron, what is your will?”

“Tonight? Only to get what amusement I can from your antics. Like you said I’m a partying god.” A warm old laugh makes my bones echo for a moment. “Also as one of the gods closest to the mortals I’m the ideal candidate to complete your instruction.

Now while your initial plan was not the subtlest or the most well thought, it showed you understood the basics of your condition and was able to extrapolate the power sets you can obtain. At least it proves we didn’t kill your brain.

Now imitating us and using phantoms of our weapons is fine but we didn’t change the architecture of your soul for these paltry tricks. Unfortunately, your flesh is still unable to house our glory. You were meant to channel our full might, to enable us to act on this worl using you as a medium.

And thus you can assume a more powerful form than this pale shadow. At the price of great pain, you can be a bit more like us and not like you were. “

“I’m able to be a god incarnate on earth?”

“No. Or rather yes but the transformation would last minutes before our light rendered you to ashes. I’m talking about an intermediate level here, enough to fight alongside these world heroes but not divine. A temporary boost paid in flesh and bone and pain.”

“I remember quite a bit of agony when you empowered me. I think I can bear a little more.”

“We didn’t do it by sadism. Hollowing a soul to make it a medium for our powers and stretching it to accommodate the possibility of your own future godhood is not an easy process even for masters in these matters.

But I digress, like I said I can provide you with your first taste of true power, the one you’re meant to wear in battle in our name. I will even lead you in the first steps and ensure you don’t level these decayed excuses for buildings in a temper tantrum.

What says you to this Raphael? “

Well it’s not like I can really say no to a god, can I?


	6. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 6

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 6  
GOTHAM, NEW JERSEY  
Night of June,21,2010

How to describe what I’m feeling now? How to describe apotheosis, or at least, the nearest version I will experience?

I could say it’s painful. Like blades inserted between your skin and your bones, like being stretched out and filled with golden flame. I could say that to become the Baron is to feel your lungs fill with salt water while your mouth mutter prayers to gods that can’t hear or help you. I could say it is to feel the wet earth enclose you, birth a pestilence that will destroy all of you. I could say it’s to laugh a desperate laugh as you see other dies and seek any oblivion to help you forget your plight.

I could say that and it would be true but it’s not the whole of what I’m feeling. It’s not like when I invoked his power. There I was filled with his might but only temporarily like the rush of alcohol down the throat, burning then dying off with only sadness to replace what joy you took. There the sensation won’t die down, won’t slow down. I don’t yet know if the others will be like that but he doesn’t want the party stopping, the joy fading, even if you are death.

I dance still. I dance with more fury I ever felt, jumping and kneeling and capering, spreading my arms wide, shifting on my legs, dancing the lascivious dance moved by a will not my own. My skin feels dry and bone like, painted black to better contrast with the apparent skeleton. My face bears the white skull design and the grin of lipless mouth. And still I move, still I dance pointing the skull-tipped staff in every direction.

I feel his will but I’m no puppet even if I could be. I’m his horse to mount and ride and let wander as he sees fit and I’m grateful for the fact. I feel the power filling my veins, making more than human, more than superhuman. The rich texture of the earth even hidden by the asphalt, the aching to shake, to tremble. The power of health so double-faced, to breed disease as well as to remove it, to blight as well as bless. And of course the majesties of death, the courts of the ghedes and the rotting servants ready to answer the call, to dance with me in a waltz worthy of this great city of innumerable crimes.

Once I was ignorant, unable to see the truth beyond flesh and bone. Once I was blind for I saw the world with fleshy eyes, eyes that would die. Now I see more, more than I ever wanted. The Baron’s will is in me now, twisting and turning while his voice drives me on. I’m warm in the night of June, hot enough to want to laugh, to revel and to cry out in joy.

Three beggars are near my position. A man with only one eye and the scars of war in his mind and body. A boy, beautiful even near his death with veins filled by poison. A woman struggling against one of the damnable concoctions of this city, fighting the fear scarring her flesh. I see them not as the mortals see them but with another vision. I see their ailments, their scars hidden and open, I hear what in them cry for release, what in them begs and prays to the great absence. The Baron voice in my ears urges me to make them raise, to make them dance with us as they fall, healed or dead whatever they wish. I see alcohol in their veins among other things clouding their vision.

They don’t recoil from me for they don’t see me.

I can heal them, make them whole again, I can do that and it pleases me better than to grant them the death they are wishing for. So still dancing I turn to them, I turn to them and with a gest of my staff I cleanse their bodies of all that would impair their sight, burning their veins of all that would protect them against the terror of my face.

They see me now. Skull face and black skin, dressed for the gala, dressed for the dance, capering near them with my staff and shadows whispering around me. They see me and they stay paralyzed with cold hard fear. We’re in Gotham and criminals don’t limit their predation from those targets that pay. Most of the freaks here tested their products and methods on the poor before graduating to juicer prey. Their fear amuses the Baron. It is funny to him that they should fear one coming to heal them, to recoil from the hand who would raise them up.

He laughs at the idea of a skull clad avatar of himself dancing in the streets and doing no harm in a city where laughter is wed to pain.

I take the woman first, entering the pathways of her brain, the architecture of her flesh. Old scars and sabs close when I look at them but erasing the effects of an exposure to the Scarecrow is not so easy. The Baron guides me in this endeavor, explaining that understanding the flesh better would make my task less taxing. But even as I sense a spike being nailed to my head I heal her and let her be reborn under my gaze.

The boy is the easiest. With the mocking attention of the lord of graveyard I turn the drug in his system into poison, not the deadly kind, just the ones that are expelled by several bout of intense vomiting. When he will finish, his brain will associate the drug with the terrible sensation of his innards jumping up his throat.

The man I touch the least, erasing his scars before looking in the void of his missing eye. That one is a work of art as guided by my master I recreate the organ.

They still fear me, even after being made whole again. That’s normal and still entertaining. Let’s see if I can redeem the good name of skull headed maniacs everywhere in a sole night, shall we.

An hour pass as I wander in the squats and back-alleys of the Narrows. Each time I heal them of more than minor diseases and wounds I feel my energy wanes and pain fill my own bones. So I help myself to their bottles and food, trying to extend the span of my power. As I go in more well-off parts of the city, people begin to see me and do what you’d expect them to be: They scream, they flee, they run. I heal them of minor scrapes all the same wondering if they will know it.

And then I see them for the first time. In my eyes they shine like no mortal here have shined. Their nature is strange, completely mortal but somehow more than any man could realistically achieve without natural gifts and the tacit blessing of the gods. Perhaps one of the Theoi could understand it better than me. Or perhaps I see them brightened by the weight of their legend, the beliefs of others surrounding them like a cloak.

I resist the temptation to reach to them as they walk towards me, to bless them without their knowing, to make them for one night impervious to fatigue or healing faster. The Baron is a bit perplexed but I don’t think unasked gifts like that would be well-received and I decided to not enter in conflict with them. Despite the drink, I feel the power slowly waning, leaving me and taking what remains of my energy with it.

So I tip them my hat while smiling and loudly greeting them.

“Good night to you heroes! I would have loved to help you in every way possible but...”

My skin takes again its accustomed tone. The energy I felt is gone now and I’m so tired. Under their eyes I’m subjected to the same transformation I endured backwards. No more skull, no more bones. The staff breaks in my hand and crumbles into dust. No more unearthly music in my ears, no more godly voice in my mind. The Baron smiles while leaving, ensuring me of his pride in my work tonight.

Still I walk towards them, now empty hands facing them wide open in an attempt to mark I have no weapon. Each step is difficult, not painful, not yet but like I’m walking underwater and struggle to put a foot before the other. My clothing is returning to the shadow, morphing back to the black toga I’ve awakened with.

“I’m feeling a bit tired.”

My legs give way under me and I fall backwards. I sense arms taking me, laying me on the ground. My body aches for sleep and I don’t resist closing my eyes. I’m smiling though for I found them. Whether or not they were attracted by my actions or passed by I don’t know. I don’t know exactly what paths I took or where I am. I can only suppose I didn’t mess up to badly since I didn’t take a batarang in the face.

So I sleep a fitful sleep, knowing from now on, things are in the hands of the Batman.


	7. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 7

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 7  
MYSELF, DREAMSPACE?

Once people believed gods spoke in dreams. So they dreamed of their gods, of having a tiger’s head, of seeing seven fields raise and then wither, of figures cloaked in thunder and of Morpheus who speaks from every mouth glimpsed in the night. When the day broke they ran to soothsayers and oracles to interpret these divine messages. They were answered by the same words every seer offers to the waiting crowd, words I myself offered: One dreams of wealth, another of love, another of his near death. Now nothing has changed. Perhaps they are fewer those who seek the truth in half-remembered riddles and images. Still some do and receive the same answers anyone who asked the invisible ever had.

I dream but I will not content myself with such paltry answers. I’m not home in a world where we uncovered the void and recoil at its sight. I’m in a place where when you call out in the darkness, the silence answers with a voice of its own. I’m in a place where prayers are still answered for better and for worse and I don’t fear any knowledge. For he who seeks truth, no terror can ever touch him.

I’m wandering what I know now be my own heart with every secret laid bare, every wound gaping in the open. Nightmares made flesh and cackling fantasies walk in my shadows, haunt my steps, cry to me in hope of attention, in hope of being fed. I don’t look at them for I know them already, I know them too much. They can’t scream, they can taunt but I don’t have to listen to them, as long as I know them. For it’s only when you gazed deep into the shadows than you know what you can allow to step into the light.

I walk without being tired, passing both terror and desire, passing monuments to the colors of the rainbow, mumbling about the seven sins and the seven costs, everything and nothing, the slow wheel of life that turns without ceasing, about beauty that chains to the world. For my pleasure I sing the words of Baudelaire on death, a fitting tribute to my gods I come to meet inside myself, perfect temple and perfect offering:

“Mais dîtes à la vermine/Qui vous manger de baisers/Que j’ai gardé la forme et l’essence divine/De mes amours décomposées.

But say to the vermin/Who will eat you with their kisses/That I kept the divine essence and form/Of my decayed love”

I leave long hallways twisting and turning with every breath and their riddles and their decorations. Grids of burnished brass, gates closed to the darkness within, to the shadows that are part of all that breathe. Did I walk these hallways home without ever remembering? Did my mind organize itself like a castle of memories with each stone a sign and a reminder? How could I know. Even if my guide would tell me, how could I believe him? The Baron said my soul and my mind were hollowed then extended and instinctively I follow the breeze of air and the foreign scent to where the gods wounded me and healed me.

I see him in these rooms where rain fall and feet strike pools of water dark and deep. I see him in room where every tear ever shed shine like moonlight and every stone is made of a thought you’ve made pondering about death and the afterlife. I see him beyond gates where a reaping skeleton harvest from a black field where emerges two human heads and countless dispatched limbs. I see him and from that glance I burn for him.

Never mortal man enthralled me so, never painting or sculpture or all objects born from man’s imagination captured my attention so. Sculpted by the hands of gods, he’s beautiful as them. Smiling and ever shifting he let me see all his shapes, all his wiles. Greek statues of a young athlete with glistening bronze skin and polished immobile eyes, Egyptian painting with limbs positioned wrongly but so perfect in proportion, obsidian-skinned youth with jade jewelry and feathers and bones to adorn his nudity. And just out of sight, out of mind, just glimpsed, never looked in full, himself in silver and black, incubus in majesty. Innocent yet alluring, powerful but servile, protector, protected, beautiful as a dream of stone.

Heavy is my desire of him, my need of his embrace. In this place where thought is fact, I see my interest escape my chest to crawl around me, coiling around me like living shadow whispering of games, whispering of wants too great to be easily denied. Oh kiss me, love! Look at me, take some pity of me and let my lips embrace yours. A kiss of you and then I’d die of it. I was never one for passion but that creature I can’t even describe was crafted for my pleasure in the very heart of my mind. I walk to him, using all my willpower to not run.

And when I’m near enough to smell the heady perfume of his silver locks, the illusion crumbles. In this palace where thought is real I feel his, rigid and artificial, chained and neutered by our masters. When his form changes a new set of rigid rules, a new mask made to remind me of duties, to help the gods understand the world without them and me to understand the gods. He is not sentient. Even if he’s a very good imitation, the shackles he wears make sure nothing will come of it without the blessihng of the gods. My desire dies not but I cast him in the shadows for how can I rut even in dreams with someone unable to consent.

He hears my thoughts and laugh softly, taking me by the hands and guiding me as is his due to the place where my mind and the gods’ meet. This is not what I expected when I heard the word “hollowed”. It’s not a yawning abyss waiting to consume me. It’s not an iron gate barred by chains and swords. It is a great place filled to the brim with the gods’ altars. The wound is visible in the scared skies above us from where it rains a red substance looking like manna and like honey on the tongue.

I count the gods, knowing from first glance even the mythologies I’ve never heard of. Four from the Devas. Three from the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Norse and the Aztecs. Two from the Babylonians, the Thuatha and the Orishas. One from the Inuits, Incas, Mayas, Polynesians, Persians and Slavs. An impressive gathering with some figures I love, some I’m wary of, and some I know I risk to be a poor priest to. All powers seem to be represented here, from fire and lightning, to cold and ice, to the cold imposition of order to the joyous release of chaos. Masks of my own for me to wear, weapons to wield not in my name but in theirs, to their specifications and to their conditions.

Long and loose is my leash, gilded in gold and silver the walls of my prison, still I who knelt before none must now bear in the heart of my soul the proof of my service. Still service to higher powers, to true higher powers is its own reward, isn’t it?

In this place I receive instructions, some by my guide’s voice sweet as the scent of roses, some by the mouth of the graven idols in the vast temples. They tell me of vast intelligences, of beings so great and powerful they are universes of their own so as one of them is Darkness while his sister is Fertility and their kinsmans are Fire and Order. They tell me of the pantheons of these places, dreadful for humanity and more dreaded still by the gods that toppled them. Some I know like mind-twisted Cronos and sun-devouring Apep. Others I didn’t know such as the ones who ruled in the place of death by which I came to this world: Bone-breaking Astovidad, pestilence-cloaked Nirriti, horror-crowned Lords of Xibalba and their brother I knew of black-winged Thanatos.

While the walls of their prison are still holding, they are mortals who, not content of their own considerable power, kneel to these pantheons in hope to be rewarded, who command the creatures of these realms after summoning them through crack in ancient Tartarus, who would offer the world and its gods to those who wait chained in the darkness.

Worse still, they are those who dream of harnessing the power of the Titans to their own use. Those who speak without knowing what they are talking about to chain mighty Aten who burns like the sun and bleed him of power to feed a continent, to kill black-winged Thanatos and thus end the merciful release of death, to make those progenitors who decreed the first laws lend authority to their own mortal rules. Grievous is the danger to the world if they fail, perhaps more grievous is the danger to the world if they succeed in their ambitions.

My task is simple. The heroes and new gods of this world will enter in conflict with these madmen and I’m to make sure they win this fight. Creatures of legend are walking and preying on humanity, they must be destroyed or imprisoned back again. And to reinforce the gods I must bring them worshippers, to make them powers of their own right.

No sin is too grave in the pursuit of these goals say the god, no pleasure too taboo if I succeed in my task. For my own power will grow as my renown spread and Fate takes notice of me. In the end waits for me a golden throne at the side of the very gods that judge humanity after death, a place where nothing will be impossible.

Softly, coiled in darkness and protected by knights of shadows I dream of glory. And I smile in my dreams for I’m still young enough for greed and pride to trump fear and terror.


	8. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 8

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 8  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
June 22, 2010, 6.00 AM

I was halfway expecting to be tied down. That would have been a perfectly natural reaction to seeing a guy morph back from skeletal hoodie to normal young adult in a world where such changes can affect the unwilling as well as the adept. Waking up without feeling my hands and my feet bound together is strange. I would have expected more paranoia or at least a gag and a blindfold. Fortunately, this Batman seems nicer than any recent counterpart I can think of. That’s or I’m an exception. Both are possible.

Stretching up as I open my eyes, I feel that the bed is actually good. Not palace-class but it’s a true bed nonetheless. More and more amazing, I was ready for a simple mattress in a dank hole but apparently not. Another point in my “I’m not a prisoner” book. Someone has even been kind enough to let me some bread and a bottle of water near the window. Guess I can nominate Batman for the most humane holding facilities record. Still that doesn’t make much sense. If I was deemed really not dangerous, I should have been transported to a hospital and if I was deemed trouble I doubt my accommodations would be so comfortable. 

Where am I exactly anyway? I’m hearing cars in the distance so I doubt I’m in Wayne Manor. The place doesn’t drip and glisten with humidity so I’m guessing it’ not the Batcave either. I don’t remember Batman having any private hideouts in the comics to interrogate suspects and anyway that doesn’t look like a holding facility for the kind of enemy Batman face. Or am I in a specialized containment unit? That seems rather probable knowing Batman. Something labeled “for suspected dangerous but not hostile individuals” perhaps.

By the windows’ shutters I see the light of the dawn but I know from experience I have slept too much for that to be the dawn after my capture. So one day? Two? Three? Does that matter. I eagerly help myself to the food and drink, ready to bet a silent alarm or something has already alerted the Dark Knight I’m awake.

The place is small and devoid of all save the barest amenities: Two pieces’ apartment with an empty fridge and no electronics except the electric plates in the kitchen. Someone is taking no useless risks I see. I’m completely naked, even lacking the toga the gods gave me. I suppose it must hang in the Batcave awaiting analysis. A set of non-descript grey clothing is bundled at the feet of the bed so at least I make myself decent.

In the worst case I’m waiting until the night falls, which means being bored out of my mind quickly except if Vergil can learn to play chess in my brain or I learn to reach the strange dreamspace of last night. At best, I’ve only a matter of minutes to think on how to present the truth to the Justice League.

“The truth is the truth. I don’t see why it would need to be presented.” I don’t disagree mate, but I’m not ready to tell to the organization who hesitates to kill immortals I’m being sent by gods of death who do not share their morality and engagement rules. I’m not bringing up the matter of Nergal or the Morrigan if I don’t need to.

So I sit cross-legged on the bed and try to master my breathing. Back home it never worked, I’m nearly hyperactive when it comes to information and activity, the type of guy who is listening music, writing then in the five minutes reading across seven or eight folders. The type of guy who cannot have enough time in the day and no ability to concentrate on work or even a game for too long.

Now it seems that changed a bit. Sure my mind still wanders but I don’t feel the need to rush anymore. Draw your breath in and release him out while concentrating on something. That’s the rules, isn’t it. The rules that never changes. In this case I’m concentrating on the changes wrought on my body now I can fully appreciate them. They are not very visible on the outside but their implications are surprising. I wore glasses all the time and I didn’t even remark their absence since my arrival. My movements even when I was hungry were more coordinated, more sure than they were in all my life. Vergil is happy to confirm my suspicions: the gods have healed me from handicap and other ailments when they transformed me.

“Vergil were the things I saw in this dream. The Titans? The mission granted to me by the gods?”

“Yes it is, they even took the time to update my own knowledge. I’m now able to advise you on nearly every form of arcane energy existing on this planet as well to answer important theological questions.”

“You mean like explaining how the gods exist in a universe where the Presence, Lucifer and the New Gods are also extant?”

It’s an itch that bothered me since I arrived in Gotham and saw churches as well as remembering Darkseid’s entourage from the comics. Cutting through Vergil’s attempts of obfuscation I understand that while the Presence claims no dominions over the pagan gods, it is undoubtedly the biggest dog in the yard. They don’t know if that’s an effect of the monotheistic religions gaining the upper hand or if the triune god is really the creator of the universe identified in various mythology. Still while no war is declared between the Name and the others demiurges Vergil assures some outer kingdoms of hell were seized by our masters after Lucifer decided to quit.

More worrying is the presence of creatures and beings hailing from different creations, from earlier, cruder creations. The Silk Man is apparently very much active in the world, maintaining his form of immortality by stealing the substance of more stable individuals.

The New Gods are less of a concern. Vergil seem to regard them with amused contempt, describing them as children, potent but ultimately children playing with science so advanced it could be misunderstood with magic. He seems to reserve his bile for their Manicheism, estimating it a throwback to the tme of the Titans before the gods became complex moral beings.

After a time of enlightened discussion I hear a snappy voice breaking my trance.

“We have to talk”

Not deformed as much as Nolan’s own Batman but certainly not a tone I would expect Bruce Wayne to be using with his latest supermodel toy.

He’s not ridiculous. I don’t know how he achieves this but he does. Normally the whole get-up, I’m dressing as a bat, would be a joke like it is in some adaptations but not there. The costume is grey and look visibly like an armor with plate and gears. Even the hears of the cowl look more like high-tech antennas picking signals than a cosmetic accessory. The only bit of flesh I can see is his jaw. Why does he leave hit exposed when a simple hood can hide it? I remember a story where he explained to the Joker it was to mock the clown’s complete lack of humanity or something.

“You will be happy I think to learn 30 people of Gotham have been declared healed of various ailment ranging from malnutrition to amputated limbs without ill-effect. We spent yesterday looking at them and everything seems to be well.”

Yesterday? So I guess that would mean I slept a whole day. And who is this we he’s talking about? Robin and he? The League? Other people.

“Your costume is or rather was very surprising for a healer, as was your strange reversion. Stranger still is the fact you don’t appear in any database here and abroad. As far from the world is concerned you emerged from Slaughter Swamp, got into Gotham in a costume making people take you for fellow hero Ystin and then impersonated the Baron Samedi to heal people in my city.

As you did no evil since you got here, I have decided to forgo my usual methods. Think upon your luck while you explain your presence here.”

Well from Batman it is the equivalent of a friendly greeting. I nearly smile at the thought of the welcome Hal Jordan or the Flash would have given me. Still at least I have few chances to be considered insane. If Batman already established, I have no paper trail in this world, I will not be losing any time.

“I come from a parallel universe where there are no superheroes, no magic and no proved alien. I awoke in the underworld two days ago then was empowered by the gods who rule there to be their champion. I know that sounds incredible”

“In my line of work, you quickly reconsider what is plausible or not. Wonder Woman said she received a message from her own gods yesterday to look for a new agent of theirs.”

Yesterday! Was Hermes off to seduce some nymph rather than bringing the Amazon Princess to my side. I could have avoided many things on my first day if I had a mentor.

“Technically you had one.” Shut up Vergil!

The dark knight’s expression is unreadable as ever as he continues.

“What are your powers?”

Does he expect a true answer? Of course it’s Batman we’re speaking of. Fortunately, I have far more information now than two days ago. Enough I hope to quiet any worries the League could have, or to worsen them. Depends of their mood.

“I am able to channel the presence of a peculiar god giving me an ersatz of their powers. As far as I know my powers could practically encompass everything from healing to control over the elements. I know that most of my patrons are gods and goddesses of fertility and growth so I suppose plant manipulation.”

“How do you intend to use such powers?”

“The gods command me to help people in their name and continue the age-old business of destroying monsters and protecting humanity. They are also afraid some of their enemies could find willing proxies and want me to watch for such eventualities.”

I hesitate to speak the next part even if I rehearsed since I knew I’d come in contact with the Justice League. Batman generally love people acknowledging his seniority so I guess that will earn me his acceptance if not his confidence.

“As I have nothing in this world, I intended to serve the League in all things, acknowledging your authority and respecting any restriction you could wish of me. While I never fought in my life, I think we established I can be a competent healer if need be.”

Still unreadable. Will it kill him to have some recognizable expression? It’s the mask I think, depriving me of many of the social cues we are accustomed to. Still I’d want to know if he’s angry with me or anything like that. But apparently no.

“Follow me! If your story is true, we have no means to send you back to your home. We will provide you with living arrangement for the time being. We are glad for your offer of help and will assess your powers to see in what capacity you can help us.”

I rise to follow him out of the small apartment, risking to ask where are we going. I don’t know if I must be happy or frightened by Gotham’s protector answer.

“Like I said, to assess your power, your limit, your weaknesses. If your powers come from a mythological source Wonder Woman is nominally in charge of testing you.


	9. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 9

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 9  
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
JUNE, 22, 2010 9.00 A.M  
Teleportation is a strange experience. Not as uncomfortable as you would think having one’s atom forcibly separated then reassembled would, but definitively strange. Perhaps it is the strange nature of my soul but during the instant the transition occurred, I thought I could actually become pure consciousness before my flesh was given form anew. That feeling was simply there the fraction of a moment but still it was disconcerting. Still that sensation aside, the League access to teleporters must double their efficiency. Batman was not forthcoming on the span of the network but I think it must cover at least the United States and parts of Europe.  
I must say I will happy to depart the Dark Knight’s presence. It’s not he’s frightening. Well he’s frightening. I don’t know how he manages to do this but he does it well enough to cow me into silence. Seems logical to me that if we’re in the early morning he must be awake for a bit more than health would advise. Well at thirty-three he’s still young enough to cope with his lifestyle effects for quite a few years. Still at this moment he’s as angry as your average pre-coffee guy. I wonder what he’s like when he isn’t at the verge of falling asleep.  
The Hall of Justice, as Batman grumbled the name to me, or at least the section we arrived look just like a normal office building crossed with a fancy gymnasium. I see sparring rooms standing against what seem to be conference rooms. The comical image of the Justice League in full regalia, each standing in his own office, shuffling paperwork comes easily to mind. Yes, I see it, the Flash working at superspeed to put stamps of approval on latest reports, one of the Greenies on kitchen duty generating glowing green utensils, Batman complaining over how he has to finance everything the others destroy. It is inaccurate as it can be but the idea is glorious. If I have the occasion to go to Hollywood, I’m totally selling the idea: Justice League Sitcom. It will be a success beyond all successes.  
Batman guides me to a sparring room and… I’m not surprised to see them awake so early in the morning. In superhero work the shifts are extra-long after all. What I’m surprised by is they are sparring now and not pulling any punches. Wonder Woman and, who is this guy? The spear counterpart to Hawkgirl? He certainly looks like her, even got the same mace. Perhaps it’s just for standard equipment for Thanagarian agents, that and the birdie-helm and the…harness. Yep he wears a harness on his clothes. No idea what purpose the thing serves but no discussing fashion choices.  
Diana wears, well that parody of armor she wears in all continuities she’s not allowed to wear pants. The bustier has been designed by Hephaistos which explains some things out. The fact she’s as durable as Superman explains more but still. I’m wondering how she fares against an opponent with a weapon able to harm her.  
Which as she is currently parrying the mace with her bracelets must not be easily found. Weren’t these weapons extra-effective against magic in the cartoons? Apparently not as Diana is winning the fight. The alien makes devastating sweeping moves with his weapon, switching effortlessly between one and two handed styles. If that wasn’t a training session I would peg him for a berserker. The amazon dodges his strikes, parrying sometimes with the edge of her bracelets without counter-attacking. The fight is long, thirty minutes but after this time, the Hawk’s fury is depleted and he is vulnerable to Diana’s assaults.  
Guess that answers my questions. Vergil, remind me if need be to never antagonize anyone on the Justice League.  
“If need be? Were you planning on doing that?” he smirks in my thoughts. Well a reminder to not get cocky doesn’t hurt anyone so.  
Ten minutes later, she’s before us, positively radiant. Batman is a bit warmer to her than to me but not too much. Another of my suspicions is confirmed when she sends him back “to get some sleep before Alfred drags him by the ear to bed like last time.” There’s something funny in the way the dark knight scowls and turn tail to the teleporter much quicker you’d expect him to be.  
“He’s always grumpy when he put too many all-nighters at once and can’t sleep until the current matter is resolved. “she says with an indulgent smile. “Not the most ideal combination but you got to admire his drive.”  
She faces me now. She’s not as young as the animated version but she’s not old, certainly you never gave her eighty-five years. I’m not the best placed to judge if she’s beautiful but she’s got an impressive athletic physique, at least as muscled as Batman if not more. Her expression is something I can’t really place: Pity, compassion, indulgence. Something in this spectrum. She offers me her hand to shake and I take it happily.  
“I hope you don’t hold my colleague for your holding or for his attitude. Batman is bit…difficult to connect. I’m Wonder Woman but you call me Diana. Welcome to our wondrous world, nice to meet you.”  
“I’m Raphael, currently without a suitably heroic nickname, hapless servant of the gods.”  
Yes, it’s definitively a look of pity in her eyes now.  
“Aren’t we all? Aren’t we all. We have much to discuss but that can wait a bit. Katar owes me a drink or two after this impromptu session. Care to join us?”  
Well that was quick and certainly promises to be better than Batman’s ministrations. I quickly acquiesce and follow her with what I imagine must be an idiot smile on my face. No judgement, no lasso of truth, things are going splendidly.


	10. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 10

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 10  
WASHINGTON D.C  
JUNE, 22, 2010 9.30 A.M

Sometimes things don’t exactly conform to your expectations. I mean I don’t believe for a second the League is still operating from the Hall of Justice. In all incarnations of the team I knew they operated from the Watchtower which makes slightly more sense for a global team than squatting in the U.S capital. How people are buying this while the rest of the building seems to be a freaking museum/shrine to the League with an official cafeteria to boot is beyond me. The museum is surprisingly humbler to what you’d expect for a team of world renowned heroes. No giant statues of the founders supporting the ceiling, nearly no frescoes depicting old battle and ancient foes. Ok the museum is dedicated to their victories, quasi uniquely from alien invaders, but the general humility is refreshing.

Granted, as I’m currently enjoying the building’s food and drink, I’m not in a room to complain too heavily. The food is even not as loathsome as I expected American’s confections to be, even above average for a great museum’s shop. I’m more interested in my neighbors anyway. The contrast between them is enlightening.

Katar is almost Norse-like in attitude. Boisterous, quick to laugh, quick to reminisce about old battles and foes long gone, almost eager to go into a scrape once more. He seems to be a bit disappointed I didn’t charge the first criminal I saw on my first day but he’s very interested to hear about the phantom weapons granted by the gods and earnestly offer to train with me as, with his wife, he’s one of the few Leaguers to fight with close combat weapons. Under the thunderous attitude, I can feel his gaze gauging me, evaluating me for strength and weaknesses and remember this guy was his civilization’s equivalent to a western lawman and perhaps one of the Leaguers who killed before arriving to Earth.

Diana is strange. She can outboast Katar with ease: You can’t exactly beat “I put the god of war on his ass one or two times in my life” in the epic department. However, I note she’s engaged in many non-violent pursuit, managing contact between her island and the rest of the world, funding charities and supporting various causes in their names. I’m not dealing with the Xena-clone of the New 52, that’s for sure.

I tell them my story as I remember it. Katar mutters a prayer to Mordiggian when I describe the purulent expanses of Xibalba while Diana is rather pitied by my description of dim Hades. Apparently she needed to get in there once to negotiate with Hecate the solution to Circe rampage-of-the-month, even if her divine blessings made the trek much easier. I’m at the point of my tale where I describe my coming to Gotham.

“And when I arrived, I discovered I could hear the unquiet dead. Gotham has quite a few of them as you can imagine. I didn’t know what to expect so I followed the nearest that was hovering above a shadowy corner of the alley. Imagine my reaction when I discovered my first corpse.”

“That must have been disquieting” says Katar “I remember my first found when I was on the force. I had to run to not contaminate the crime scene with all my puking”

“It was less horrible I would have thought. In my parallel I saw my father’s corpse and it affected me way more than that. Sure, she had a slit throat and had this weird expression recent corpses apparently have. But I was more disquieted she had been left to rot than by the corpse itself. The gods apparently freed me from that peculiar sensation”

“What did you do with the corpse?” asks Diana with an intensity a little more than frightening.

“Nothing, I called the police and went on find others. These ones were old, decayed beyond all recognition. I could sense their breaths still prisoner from the dead flesh, still struggling to free itself from the corpse. I heard their ghosts scream from the state their bodies were.

So I gave them what they wanted. I freed their breaths and called birds to return them to nature. They seemed to appreciate that enough to disappear in the ether”

“They didn’t want to be avenged?” Katar seems astounded by the thought. I suppose I would be too if I came from a warrior culture or didn’t had parts of my feelings on death or the dead altered.

“Most of them apparently thought Batman would foil their boss’ schemes whatever they were.”

It’s strange. I would have easily thought the League “righteous face-punchers” expecting metahumans to prove themselves by reducing crimes. However, Katar is positively happy with me burying the howling dead while Diana is actually interested if I would be able to reproduce the healing of the night at a grander scale.

The rest of the morning I listen intently to their stories, learning incidentally that the Martian Manhunter is not the last Martian in this universe but the representative of an entire cave-dwelling civilization. Most of the Rogues’ gallery I’m remembering are active, even if Luthor didn’t go to prison even once and is enjoying his seat as the richest man on earth. I’m their first experience in parallel universe hopping so no Crime Syndicate, Anti-Monitor, Super Prima-Donna Prime or other alternate. Diana seems to have as a project to let me spar with her to see to what limits I can push myself. After that, training and exercise regimen to at least bring me to fitness standards even without superpowers.

Fate is rarely so kind to let you plan that way. As we finish our conversations, Diana’s communicator comes alive and I hear what I’m slightly sure is Superman’s voice.

“Superman to leaguers in Washington, there’s been a synchronized traffic accident on Arlington Memorial and Theodore Roosevelt Bridges. City services report they lost contact with the firemen and rescue team they’ve sent.”

I have no idea what even these bridges are but that doesn’t sound ominous at all.

“Wonder Woman here. I’m with Hawkman at the Hall of Justice, we’re ready to intervene. ETA ten minutes at most Are there any additional information?”

“No sighting of one of our usual clients whatsoever. For all we know this is a simple accident and a series of unfortunate circumstances piling up.” Beat. “I don’t think we ever saw one of those, did we?”

“How Batman calls it : “never ascribe to accident what can be explained by malice, never ascribe to fate what can be explained to criminal madness. Wonder Woman out”

Katar and Diana exchange a brief glance before rising and signaling me to follow them. I think my exam just graduated from practice session to live-fire exercise. Wonderful. I pulse in my mind: “Vergil. Which of the gods would be appropriate to the situation at hand?”

“A health god would be the key to provide support. If you want to be more direct Lir’s son, Oya and Sedna are gods of water.”

Well then all depends on what I want to do. Joy.


	11. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 11

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 11  
THE HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
June,22,2010 09:45 AM

My choice is made, defend rather than attack support from the shadows rather than attack. Diana eyes me warily as she signals me I’m allowed to use my powers. Katar seems rather curious as he squeezes his mace’s guard while his wings beat quickly in impatience.

“Sister of Magic whispered by many names. Sister of Fertility cut short by a brother’s blade. Sister of Storms humbled by a son’s revenge. Daughter of Earth trod upon by his own father. Daughter of Sky whose stars are like raiment on her skin. Mother of the Jackal that roams between this life and the next.

I saw you at the side of the Lord of Duat weeping for him. Your tears brought him back to life, your compassion back to health. Princess of Magic whose name is a knife howling in darkness. I invoke your name and your power Nephthys who stands alone, of a brother by a husband bereft, of a husband by a nephew bereft. By the tears you’ve shed, by the love you shared, by the power you wield I summon you to my help.”

How much these gods differ from each other. This time I feel wormy darkness seek the way to my heart judging his flame at his taste, growing then encompassing the whole of my being. I feel the soft touch of healing flowing down my veins, a fierce protectiveness awakening beyond my eyes. I feel ancient words not uttered since the great house by the Nile was deserted dance and shiver on my tongue. My clothes don’t change but under them I feel the cold kiss of bracelets and pectorals and necklaces of silver and bronze and tin and gold. Without looking at them I recognize them for what they are: The heart, the spine, the scarab and the knot. Potent symbols but where is my weapon? I needed not to ask for in my hand rests now a knotted cross, the cross of life wrought in amethyst.

Something must have changed for Diana and Katar’ eyes are now appreciative. The Amazon Princess takes the time to indicate me the location of the accident, to the west of the Hall of Justice and order me to take no offensive action whatever I find there if not agreed by her. There’s no need she says to risk my life if two heroes are in difficulty.

I have no intention to risk my hide if I can help it but I’m nearly sure it will come to that. It always does in these stories and I entered a world held in part by narrative laws. I know that because I see the connections now. Fate is real in this world it seems. At least I can fell his push and pull on me and them and even the mortals who stood in our presence. Each the hero of his own story, each dragging other characters along, all these stories making the great tragedy of life, death and rebirth.

What am I saying? It must be the influence of a goddess of magic doing something to my perceptions. I ask Vergil how to use my new gifts and he indicates me a way. While Diana and Katar fly away I turn away and hum a slow song in a tongue I don’t understand while thinking upon them.

While Nephthys is not a goddess who leads the dead to their appointed place, she’s proficient with magic and all sorcery works on connections. I’ve entered the story of the Justice League by meeting Batman and by my own desire to see them and serve them. I’m also in the story of the war of the Titans and the Gods and this incident could bear their mark. I go into a dark corner of the Hall.

The shadows docile and bidden open to let me step through them and rejoin the heroes.

The ecstasy of the joining quickly fades while I run across a bridge of living darkness towards the light. The ankh is still in my hand, even if I don’t exactly understand what powers it can contain. An increased connection to magic is nice but can’t replace the lore I haven’t learned. Still fragments of spells, some I learned in my parallel knowing too well they didn’t work, some I just heard whispered in my thoughts. Still I hope I won’t have to use them. I hate using something without knowing all the rules.

I reemerge in front of the river, what it is named? I think I knew it once, read it in the Blue Tunics' comics. Not important. The stench of death is overflowing, coming from the two bridges I’m standing between. No obvious damage to the bridge themselves but even from here I see burning cars and bodies drifting beneath the water. I feel there are still people alive. I must go heal them and drag as many as I can out of here. I’m not seeing the two heroes though. Where are they?

My question is answered when I hear a body strike the water and Hawkman dive towards him, mace raised and ready to fall. Diana is pursuing another enemy in the sky, an enemy I don’t see save as a silhouette of strange distorted angles.

Who are these guys? I don’t remember seeing anything like them in the main D.C universe. Hawkman’s enemy emerge from the water. What a ridiculous costume he’s wearing. Skintight blue costume marked with a skull transpierced by a lightning bolt. He tries to join the bank but Katar strikes him before he does before dragging him on dry earth.

Wonder Woman is faring as well against her own enemy, fists finding weaknesses even in the deformed proportions of her opponent. She shows a violence that surprises me before I see her breaking what seems to be the creature’s head with a kick. The bodies fall to pieces into the light. An illusion? And what would these clowns cause a massacre at the city’s entrance?

“They didn’t cause it, they were there as scapegoats.” says Vergil in my thoughts

What, how can you say something like that? You don’t even know this guy and his “companion”! Perhaps they are simply madmen like the Joker. What am I not seeing? I focus my eyes on the bodies in the river, hoping to see something beyond the ordinary. I feel the living, the dead and the… The dead!

I see them crawling from ruined cars, floating above broken bodies. They don’t want to go. They don’t understand they are gone. Some of them are trying to move their corpses and some will succeed, then their hunger will consume some other livings.

And among them, emerging from the water I see her. What she is I don’t know but a single gaze makes me sure as Vergil she’s responsible for this. Her skin is broken steel, with open wounds weeping burning oil. Her hair is ablaze, her tears blood. She could pass for human from a distance, neither ugly nor fair but up close her inhumanity is unmistakable. I know what she is. I know because I feel it. She’s a thing of accidents, a younger sister of those who cause houses to crumble on their inhabitants and lightning to strike random. Vergil names her Druj, one of the lesser demons of Persian lore, daughter to the line of Ahriman.

At her side I see a man clad in green bearing… A triangle? A burning triangle he uses to warp space. This one is mortal, just carefully hidden by the twisting of the light on his flesh. An ingenious means of invisibility but one that does not conceal the flame of his life.

The druj turns her gaze to the fallen villain at Hawkman’s feet as Katar flies to help Diana disperse another illusion. The blue-clad one rises soon pointing his hands to the Thanagarian and emitting a withering ray of energy striking home.

I know what’s must be done. It was foolish to think it could have happened otherwise. Vergil breathes as I begin to intone the song that unlock my deeper powers. This time I’m rested and full so it shouldn’t put me in a coma. My clothes fall off as my skin is covered with a tunic of fine linen and a leopard skin. My eyes are underlined by a trait of kohl and two feathered wings hang from my arms. I feel devotion to a land of opposites, of desolation and growth. I see great cities and statues swallowed by the sand. I hear the names of the judges of Duat for I’m one who stands with them in the hall where the dead are heard.

My hands are sheathed in energy as I run against my enemy for I’m part of Nephthys who loved her brother so much she weeps to raise him to his dark throne beneath the sands. My power surrounds Katar and Diana, not only healing them of the minor and major scrapes of the fight but shielding them in enchantments, twisting their story to make them impervious to harm. As a curtesy I destroy the complex bending of light that protects Wonder-woman from her gaze.

But my enemy is the druj and against a daemon I let power flow without restraint. The ankh in my hand is surrounded by shadow until is a perfectly serviceable sword. My mouth let pass words of powers as my eyes ever-discerning try to pick the secret of her essence. I’m going to cut her and destroy her. I have the power to do this, the right to do this.

She doesn’t flee. Indeed, she counter-charges me, dodging my blade and let her own power loose, speaking to my lungs to let them be filled with scalding smoke, she lies to my bones to let them be broken, she lies to my eyes to let see her as slender as a willow wand, as inoffensive as one of the corpses she created.

She lies to my flesh and my flesh believes it. Even with the joining, with the power I got, I’m still hurt at the mercy of her embrace. She is strong. Stronger than she looks and with efforts she cast me in the river to drift before speaking orders and letting me drift among corpses.

I cling to consciousness despite the pain, despite the lies, despite the wounds. I try to reach the two senior heroes and for a moment I contend with the druj in this field, incantation against incantation, spell against spell, healing against healing and protections against protections. I don’t even know if any of my armors really add anything to their already formidable protections but I still try. Corpses are all around me now as we flow downstream. I call the power a last time, trying to affect the outcome of the fight that continues above me.

Then the dead close their hands on my limbs and drag me beneath the surface.


	12. Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 12

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 12  
POTOMAC RIVER, WASHINGTON D.C  
JUNE,22,2010, 10:20AM

Dragged beneath cold water, I retreat into my own mind, without knowing if I simply wish to escape the sensation of drowning or seeks a way to turn the situation back to my advantage. Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps in the sanctity of my own self, I can convince myself to ignore the lies the druj told to my flesh, to turn back the dead against her and at least contribute to the victory. I learned a valuable lesson or two up there: the joining plays havoc on my perceptions and must be mastered before using it into a fight and rushing into combat is not a good idea at all.

“Well and I thought I would have to scold you for your idiocy once again. I’m happy that won’t be necessary”

Vergil’s voice resounds across flooded hallways bearing familiar frescoes, women bearing the sun disk, women bearing knives to tear the great serpent apart, symbols magic and incantations hidden in sigils on the wall. Familiar scenes I study to remember the bits of lore I knew and the knowledge my joining should have granted me. Smoking altars, amulets, effigies, scrolls are floating amidst jetsam, ready to be used but I learned to be cautious.

“We don’t have much time left” says Vergil bearing the same appearance I wore earlier, an Egyptian priest holding the staff of office and the necklace of authority. “You can still defeat our enemy and prove yourself to your would-be mentors.” He speaks swiftly, teaching me what Nephthys inscribed on my manifold soul, how to shield me against the demon’s lies and counter-attack. He’s not sure if I will be able to defeat her on my own but I can at least stop her to intervene in the duels in the sky. Hawkman and Wonder Woman should be able to wipe the floor with their enemies with ease if I’m the only one able to provide support.

Fortunately, the necessary preparations can be made here, in my heart of hearts. I concentrate on the many natures of my soul, the fragments death will separate. Near the Nile’s they believed man was the fusion of disparate elements and each of them could be mastered by the initiate. Flesh, essence, heart, spirit, shadow and name, each a fragment of the whole, each granting peculiar powers. They would have considered me a living idol in which the presence of the gods lingered. They would not have been far off.

My smile echoes Vergil’s own as I rejoin my body, feeling the pain that wracks my limbs, feeling the exhaustion of channeling and ignoring them. The dead are still grasping me, dragging me with them to the bottom of the river and then perhaps deeper if the druj has the power to open passages between this world and the next.

I’m in pain but fear has left my mind. I see things clearly now and I’m angry with myself to have been so taken with my power I forgot how to use it.

Nephthys’ aura surrounds me forcing the dead to pause, giving them new orders. They release me and go with me upwards until my head breaks the water’s surface to let me fill my aching lungs with fresh air. At least if that doesn’t work out, I won’t endure the unpleasantness of drowning.

I swim to the nearest riverbank, still in horrid pain but apparently unseen. The druj is too busy reinforcing the villains with her powers, healing their scrapes and keeping fatigue from bothering them, to notice me. Good, it will make my task much easier if I can work in the shadows.

First I need to heal myself alas the power of health and guardianship are devoted to help another and not I. So I use magic. Sekhu is what the Egyptians called the body and as a champion of the gods I’m master of my own fallible flesh. I ignore pain, remembering old wounds and diseases I endured rather to bother a doctor. That seems to work as pain is still there but no longer does it impair my movements or cloud my mind.

I rise myself up to have a clear view of the demoness before calling the shadows. This time I craft carefully what I want, making solid ropes arrayed in a net of pure darkness. The ropes are solid as steel and I reinforce them with magic and will, wishing them hard enough to immobilize a spirit. Soon I have a perfectly serviceable weapon ready to be used. I judge the distance, throw the net and speak loudly, nearly scream

“Attendants to the cords! Bind my enemy!”

As possessed by its own will (which it is in some fashion) the net coils itself against the target leaving her embroiled in links of shadow. I don’t stop there but continue my incantations while raising the ankh to point her. She is not human but she affects a human form and human weaknesses. Oil runs in her veins and come ablaze when her steel skin is cut but they are still skin and blood subject to wounds and diseases and magic.

So I work the magic I let loose in Gotham in reverse. I wish her blood to burn even inside her. I wish her skin to rust, her will to weaken. More than anything I wish her harm and pain as she caused me. So I strike muttering a curse and smiling to her brought low in the net, struggling vainly to escape. She will succeed eventually but I have the time for one more strike. My smile widens as I intone.

“Obey to magic! Burn, leave nothing but ashes!”

Burn she does for her nature is to burn in fiery end, to melt steel and revel in the ashes. She’s a creature of machines, of fires and death as surely as a nymph is a creature of growth, water and air. So the spell doesn’t kill her, far from it. Still she feels pain, surges so madly she breaks the bounds set on her and turns to face me with wrath deforming her already inhuman face.

This time she’s the one charging in anger, summoning gouts of burning oil and red-hot steel blades to strike me. I’m still surrounded by cold shadows. Enough to mold them into a shield to let her burning have no consequences, enough to mold them into knives and throwing them at her when she’s too busy to dodge. For simple shadow-objects they bite deep making her recoil but she’s still conscious and able to attack. Inhumanity has many advantages I suppose.

Clad in living shadows I await the next attack. I know I had not the energy to try more spells and without them Nephthys skillset is far more applicable to defense and subtlety than outright combat. Still I have enough mastery over darkness to make them a solid defense. Perhaps holding enough to me to rouse the dead to my aid, bidding them to tear their murderess to shreds with claw and keening screams.

I have no need of that for we hear the sound of two bodies hitting the water at great speed. Apparently my protections held quite a bit for Hawkman and Wonder Woman seem relatively unharmed while they dive in our direction. The druj turns from me to prepare herself to the shock but Diana disdain to strike her directly preferring to tie her in her lasso.

One of the most asked questions in the world always has been: What happens when a unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. At this moment I have the answer to a close one: What happens if you tie a creature made of lies with an item meant to force truth on others.

The answer is not pretty at all. The druj screams as the rope tightens itself around her limbs, scalding her inhuman skin. Her whole nature is to embody a lie, even if I don’t understand exactly how “car accidents” are a lie. Vergil assures me lord Vayu or an emissary of the Yazatas could explain the metaphysics. What I’m more interested with is that despite the lasso of truth evidently killing the demoness, Diana does not relent until the druj is completely unraveled to nothing, the core of her being made impossible by her confinement. What escape the lasso are tatters even Vergil judges inoffensive.

Diana hovers towards me next. I don’t know how much time the fight lasted but she and Katar are not visibly harmed. My own transformation is receding albeit this time I’m just midly extenuated and not comatose. The amazon princess’ eyes are hard when she assesses the burns on my body. Nothing grave considering most of the damage was mere illusion but enough to be really painful now I don’t have divine endurance anymore. I’m visibly limping and struggling to stay up.

“Thank you for healing and warding us during the fight. This should not have been needed but Angle-man and Bolt were surprisingly stronger than usual.” Her voice is cold and professional. I suppose an effect of the fight. Before I can answer, she continues with a much warmer tone.

“Your intentions were good even if some of your actions at the beginning were reckless. But in the end what I saw was par the course for beginning heroes. Katar will secure these two” she points to the two villains while you’re going to get some medical attention”

With that said she takes me by the arm and with the strength given by a long habit drags me towards the bridges where I can already hear the sirens.

Well if they don’t seem to consider that as peculiarly eventful I wonder what’s going to happen next.


	13. Interlude: Hell's Week

Interlude: Hell’s Week

I think this day will be a contender for “worst day ever” but I’m not betting on it. If anything I’m sure tomorrow will be harder still.

I dodge the blow meant for my neck as I try to guide my electrified machete to my opponent’s heart. I’m still wary of hurting him seriously but when Superman assures you he’s fine with taking a hit, he means it. Besides it’s not as if I had been able to land a blow on him during all our sessions. As I foresaw the blade simply grazes him as he grasps me by the arm and pull. Crap I hate when he does that. He shakes me like a ragdoll before throwing me in the nearest wall. I hear the sound of my bones echoing with the strength of the blow. Clark controls his strength at the perfection but when he strikes you, you feel it for the rest of the day nonetheless.

“Get up. We both know you can still fight.”

You know another flaw of training with Superman? Contrary at what you could think, he’s as relentless as Batman or Wonder Woman. Well Batman is the most frustrating by far but you know what I mean. Clark pushes you to show your best and don’t let you off until you can no longer move without pain. He said to me once he could not, in good conscience, let someone who wishes to fight the never-ending battle go to fight at less than his full potential.

I don’t even try to rise, instead pointing my hands towards him and thinking. Thinking on my current patroness Oya and her volatile character, her strength and fury in battle. However I also thinks on how I want to hurt my opponent. Not a good thought but, when you spent the three last hours trying to strike someone to see him evade your blows, the need to achieve something is intoxicating. Besides the League have showed an interesting variations of opinions on me channeling my rage and spite.

My anger expresses itself as arcs of lightning racing towards their targets. I whisper prayers to Oya wife of the thunderer of Yoruba lore, to the violent goddess who left her husband to found her own kingdom and the storm intensifies. His limbs shake a bit and he grunts in pain while recoiling. For a bit I’m tempted to howl “POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!” but that passes. I rise and try and fail to maintain the lightning storm, to batter him into submission.

That last perhaps thirty seconds, after that Superman does what Superman does. He lunges at me through the tempest and send me in the opposite wall. I have only the time to roll over while two light rays of heat visions strike a place slightly where my head would have been; Well fair is fair I suppose. Still I’m happy this version of Superman can apparently choose between “irritating sunburn” and “burning hell” for the intensity of his gaze.

Strange what different approaches different heroes can try. When I sparred with Lantern Jordan, he didn’t have any scruples to encase me in a construct then swinging me across the room then shielding himself and taunting me to break it. Superman and others among the League use their powers minimally when sparring, displaying the true variations of their abilities in others exercises. Idem on my own abilities some like Katar demand I take my most potent form at the beginning as others like Batman refuse to let me use it at all. At least I learn to adapt to different situations.

This time I’m finished. Even Oya’s enhanced strength is gone and the colored fabrics and the golden jewels I’m wearing return to the shadow. Clark helps me to rise and assess the damage. Well that’s one perk of working with him, the report on all my mistakes waits for at least a few minutes. Judging I will just sport a few more bruises he helps me out of the training room to a nearby chair. I must take fifteen minutes or so before being able to walk rather than limp.

I never was so happy to be sitting comfortably while Superman brings out water. Comes to think of it, I’ve never seen him take something other than water or fruit juice, are all heroes food nuts? I don’t think so but then I see them by group of three of four a day and generally food is not the main subject of conversation. Still imagining the menu on the Watchtower for three at least species of aliens is an interesting exercise. I wonder if this version of Martian Manhunter is addicted to oreos like in the comics.

“So what did we learn today?” Superman’s tone is rather cheery for someone I just tried to electrocute. Still this is a lot better than Batman’s who manage to congratulate you with the same tone he speaks to Gotham’s criminals.

“To never challenge you face-to-face. But then I already knew that” And what an embarrassing moment it was when Wonder Woman asked me while I was still struggling in the lasso of truth how I felt to the prospect of sparring with other members Justice League. Jordan in peculiar seemed to think my answer of “nearly crapping my pants right now” halfway between darkly amusing and personally insulting. Fortunately, she didn’t then ask me how I would fight the Justice League. I think “slitting your throats while you are sleeping” would not have endeared me to the crowd.

“To be fair most people do and seem to forget it quite a lot. No I was more talking about how when you are outmatched in close combat it is better to keep your distance from your opponent. The lightning was the most efficient thing you did in all the practice run.”

The discussion continues for a time. It would be easier if I could openly declare I knew some of their secret identities. Clark strikes me as one who would be more tempted to talk about his job at the Daily Planet rather than his other job. Not that he doesn’t like to be a hero but I suspect he enjoys as much of more being a journalist. The conversations with him stay professional, not cold but not overly warm either.

It must have been a week since the training began according to Wonder Woman’s specifications. I’m apparently the first to follow it but she thinks it proves efficient enough to let prospective new heroes or sidekicks do the course. The workload involved makes me less enthusiastic but I can’t deny the results.

Two combat exercises a day with whatever hero is in the Hall at the moment. Exercises ranging from sparring sessions to “dodge Captain Atom rays to improve your dodging”. Required readings on things as diverse as criminology to medicine. And that’s just the general gist of it. I also read what magic books the League can let me borrow, to train in the basics of the Arts. For the moment I just breached the general theory.

Well if I got myself killed on the field that won’t be the League’s fault. A week of this treatment and I lost ten kilograms and have surely more stamina in my mortal body I ever had. I’m not nearly athletic enough to even approach a hero’s normal level of fitness but I’m confident that will come in time.

Still even performing my devotions in my room is generally a painful effort after such days. The League let me fill the wall of my room with images of my gods and Diana even brought me small statues of the Greek ones from one of her journeys to Themiscyra. Praying seems to enhance my connection to them, to let me channel them more easily and with less strain on my own flesh.

Nonetheless I’m aching for a change. Perhaps after Americans get their “independence day”. I could arrange something with Wonder Woman or the others.


	14. Interlude 2: Perspectives

Interlude 2: Perspectives  
THE WATCHTOWER  
JULY 1st 2010

Earth was still a humbling view for Diana: For some, seeing the outlines of continents through the cloud, understanding the whole span of the oceans, seeing the very planet turn below them. All that would have filled the heart with pride. It would not have been necessarily a bad thing. There is much to be proud in the role of defender, to claim you protect and watch over the cradle of humanity with all your might. Not for her though and not for her companions in the Justice League. As part of an organizations where some people inspired, against their will, modern cults and esoteric followings, pride could be as dangerous as an enemy’s blade.

She was no goddess even if she was formed from the flesh of one of the Protogenoï. She was strong, yes and blessed by the gods of high Olympus but she was no goddess. She didn’t want for worshippers or even followers. She didn’t even particularly want to convert people to the ancient religion of Hellas. That happened anyway as some she saved recognized the ancient names in her expletives or dug old interviews. There was no revival, at least not yet but more of sixty years of heroing had won the Amazon Princess scores of innocents ready to thank the patrons of she who saved them.

Her new protégé as the others referred to him was no god either even if he was their most direct intervention in living memory. A champion for entities the world no longer respected or adored. Even in Themiscyra, Hades and Persephone were respected but kept at arm’s length while torch-wielding Hecate was more feared than loved, especially considering her long involvement with Circe. Diana understood the gods’ wishes for a champion and for the moment, Raphael’s action placed him higher than all the idiots who had been seduced by Ares deadly lure and empowered by the God of War. Not a difficult challenge mind you considering their tendency of reveling in their powers rather than fear them as the young man did his.

Still she didn’t approve of the gods’ methods to create such a champion. Quick-footed Hermes had not told her where they had found this soul. Apparently the young man had crossed the way to Xibalba and then to Hades all by himself. Still the cold report of the way the gods of death had imprinted their very essence in him, binding him to their service by pain and sheer power, had been trying to her respect for the Pantheon. She was ready to bet her lasso Raphael had not been offered a clear and honest choice before having his soul torn apart and hastily rebuilt with additional parts.

He had gained power from the ordeal yes, power and the potential to grow as a power in the sunless lands but such might had its own price. He had told her of the orders, the directives relayed by the disembodied mind squatting his head. Most of them were sensible and reasonable but Diana had met too much gods to hope this was always going to be the case.

Still the man wanted to do good and had showed a complete willingness to obey orders. She didn’t doubt in a few years he could be League material

“Lost in thoughts, Princess?” King Orin’s voice drew her from her reverie. Sometimes she pitied poor Aquaman saddled with an unfortunate reputation as a hero. How people managed to think someone as strong as her or Superman, able to master the creatures of the most varied biome in the planet and ruler of his own sovereign nation was mockable, was beyond her. Sure she had been subject to some pointed barbs in the forties and fifties when the American public tried to rein the changes the war had made to the conditions of women, but that didn’t last long. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Orin took the mockery in strides, finding even a perverse thrill to collect the most egregious examples. “A reprieve from the formality and the solemnity of home”, he said to her one day, “and besides you can’t imagine faces criminals make when I catch them inland.”

“Thinking on our duty, your Grace, thinking on our duty as always.” It was a private game between them, he called her Princess, a title she never really accustomed herself to, and she answered in kind. Even some of their colleagues had trouble distinguishing when the exchanges were warm and when they took a mocking tone.

She turned to face him. Orin’s skin was moist, the result of recent immersion. Strange it was not his habit at all. The costume was simple, green pants and orange chainmail. Ancient Atlanteans were good blacksmiths and enchanters to be sure but their taste in colors was terrible. Like many times before, Diana marveled the king of Atlantis who was not even half her age looked older than her, due mostly to the short blond beard and the wrinkles of care all over his face. She didn’t hesitate to ask right away:

“Seems you needed a bath, your Grace. What happened? Did the surface air finally get to you?”

“Your protégé happened. He almost managed to desiccate me during training.” Unlike what’s one could have expected, the tone was not so angry than slightly annoyed at some minor inconvenience

Diana filled that one on the list she had made since Raphael’s training began. As always, when someone was training her powers, wounds risked to happen. And the boy’s strength was he could shift both in powers and in intensity. That was not as versatile as said the Green Power Ring or the ability to shapeshift but that could lead to surprising results in the spars: Animalistic war-forms, aura of icy cold, illusions, shadow constructs and more could be found in his bag of tricks. Even he could not exactly predict what a god would give him before channeling the power into his flesh.

For the moment he had managed to touch only three of them. Superman had been electrocuted, Hawkman had fought an avatar of Kali and received some minor gashes in the process and Zatara had one of his standard striking spells reflected on him. Not bad for a beginner but not exceptional considering each time he managed to inflict only very minor wounds, even with the advantage of surprise.

“How did he manage that? You are no more vulnerable to dehydration than a normal human.”

“And am I lucky for that. He lost control of someone named Nergal and radiated sunlight all over the place. It was like spending a day without drinking anything. Yet that was the only blow he landed on me in the whole session.”

So business as usual. Raphael’s had a tendency to try to blast his enemies into oblivion when he was channeling warlike deities, that or to charge them head on lost in blood-frenzy. His attacks could not overwhelm a Leaguer and when his fury was spent he was easy to immobilize. Still that made a fourth hero touched. Perhaps she couldn’t count it though, after all if the whole room had been affected… Still a question to ask:

“What did you think of him?”

Orin’s face remained neutral as he gathered his thoughts. Aquaman had never been given to impulse, especially not when he had to render judgement, which as a monarch was depressingly often. Some time after he spoke again:

“Some parts of him are built for our line of work. He’s curious, diligent in his studies, and eager to please his betters which apparently means us. He interacts with everyone from Barry to Giovanni like a curious student, always ready to hear us pontificate on whatever subject can help him. At heart, however, he is still full of fear and anger. The fear comes from his circumstances but I heard him talk about the world with enough bile to make Batman in a very bad day proud.” He paused a moment before continuing “By instance he identified Luthor as a villain apparently simply by basis of his social status. He said something to the effect of: Of course he is evil, he’s a billionaire in charge of a multinational company evil is ca contracted requirement. So he’s more personable than Ollie’s brat but less than my own Aqualad or Kid Flash”

Business as usual then in this field too then. For the moment of all the Leaguers, Red Tornado had the best opinion of the boy, a fact helped by the fact he had intruded in a conversation on humanity the robot was having with John Stewart. The rest of the League had very much the same opinion than Aquaman: An earnest boy with a somewhat bleak outlook on the world but eager to use his power to change it for the better. Stewart and Jordan thought him too fearful but as Green Lanterns they considered nearly everyone too fearful.

At least he had not made enemies in a week and was moral enough. Diana supposed she had been lucky with that one. He also proved the training regimen she had planned with Batman long ago for the case a young hero not affiliated with a Leaguers came to them was efficient.

She wondered how things would go with the sidekicks.


	15. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 1

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 1  
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY, 4, 2010, 2:00 PM

There are times I question the wisdom of the Justice League. I know it’s trite and overdone and they do their best to help the world. Sometime though, you've got to admit they don’t exactly think things through. And that’s annoying because they are better than that, they can do better than that. Also some of their mistakes are grating because you can’t figure why they did it. I mean it would be interesting to know who thought it was such a bright idea to make the whole Hall a public museum while still pretending the League operates from here. It’s a disaster waiting to happen when a wannabe supervillain who thinks he is the next big thing tries to blow it up.

In this case I’m railing against the idiot who thought it would be nice to make some areas like the friggin library actually visible from the visitors’ circuit. Seriously it’s really difficult to read when you sense you are observed like a caged bird by gawking tourists. I am sorely tempted to invoke the power of one of these Mesoamerican deities who are the very definition of terrible ugliness to scare them off but the scolding I received when I clothed myself in Manannan’s mantle letting the sea-god’s illusions be visible is still fresh in my memory. Captain Marvel and Jordan seemed to think it was hilarious though so, in a sense, that was worth it.

Rather than continue to obsess over the tourists and the silent click of their cameras (Thank the gods for small mercies, the whole thing is soundproof.) I return to my book. I was surprised the League maintains a library, a well-furnished one with that. Most of the books are fiction reflecting the tastes of the Leaguer who brought them here and there are some gems hidden among the shelves. I would pay dearly to know how this library was gathered, who brought what. There are whole ranks of mystery and detective novels, translations of classical plays and poems and some more surprising things. Someone provided a collection of good military thrillers, another heavily annotated Lovecraft anthologies. I’m nose-deep in this one, trying to decipher the cursive annotations, some on the style, others apparently commentaries on the alien biology presented and how it makes no damn sense whatsoever.

They told me Batman, Aquaman, the Flash and Green Arrow were bringing their protégés to the Hall today. Apparently it’s a great privilege and they expect them to be happy. I nearly laughed myself to death when I thought about how fifteen years old me would have felt about being brought to a place every tourist can see and being told it’s a privilege. At least it gave me the chance to ask about them, their character and general amiability. Aqualad is considered too serious but dependable, Robin and Kid Flash wreck everything together and Speedy (What’s with the name, Red Arrow would be more natural) … Well let’s say “sullen teenage jerk” is somewhat of a consensus.

“And of course our library…” Thanks the gods they arrived.

Well their costumes are not as ridiculous they could be so that’s a definitive plus. Robin’s is surprisingly sober with the complete pants and the absence of green. Kid Flash is a fashion disaster with the bright yellow but I’m ready to think friction-resistant fabrics don’t exist in every tint. Aqualad is, well the blond-bleached hair is not meshing well with his skin but the costume is sensible red and black. As for Speedy … What’s that hat? What purpose does it serve? Even Green Arrow wears a sensible hood rather than a Robin Hood reject. At least it’s not the walking target Kid Flash is.

“And who’s that guy?” Kid’s Flash’s remark surprises me. Did their mentors not talk to them about me meeting them here? Two solutions: Either Wonder Woman ordered me to meet them without telling their mentors of the fact. Or he thought he would surprise his sidekick. In either case, it doesn’t speaks well of the League’s communicative skills.

“Dude. We talked about this. This is the guy Batman and I caught in Gotham after he did a live Friends on the Other Side’s impression.” What? I was acting strange when I was fused with Baron Samedi’s essence but I would remember about offering faustian bargains, wouldn’t I. I decide to intervene before this line of conversation goes any further.

“Yes I’m that guy. My name’s Dante. Nice to meet you.” Unfortunately for me there is a Devil May Cry franchise in this universe but I don’t know what other names I could go for. Take a name from the mythologies who empower me and I anger the rest of my patrons. Take a name related to my name like Archangel and suddenly everyone asks me why I have no wings.

“Happy to meet you too. Are you foreign? You don’t sound American?” Apparently Aqualad is the stoic of the “to the point” guy here. Good to know.

“I’m French. And from a parallel universe.” I smile while I point them one by one. “So Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad and Speedy” who decides he would also get to the point.

“What are you doing here anyway? This is supposed to be our big day.” If it is, why are you sounding so angry? Is that your default tone? You must have so many friends. Still I resist my first instinct that would be to snark.

“To be fair, sirs.” I say slightly bowing to the heroes, “I would like to know that myself. Wonder Woman simply told me I was to wait for you here.”

After a quick look for the others, Flash simply declares: “We just wanted to give the kids a tour of the HQ to show them what’s waiting for them.” What? They didn’t even tell their sidekicks about the Watchtower? Why? I can’t see the difference between the kids pestering for a ride to Washington and the kids pestering for a tour of the satellite. I can’t see that end well.

“Except that isn’t the League’s real HQ, just a relay center for the Zeta beams and a front for the League’s real control center in space.” I hate when I am right like that. However Green Arrow nearly literally melting under Batman and Aquaman’s glare is wonderful Someone didn’t keep their mouth shut.

“They’re treating us like kids, worse like sidekicks” Roy. Is his name Roy? You may want to see the reality of the situation, you are sidekicks, apprentices, protégés, whatever. There’s no shame in being an apprentice until you have nothing more to be taught by your mentor.

So Speedy angrily leaves the room, under the gaze of dumbfounded tourists, (seriously I need to catch the one who thought it was a good idea to make the Hall semi-public), mumbling about how Obi-wan is jealous of his potential and he’s more than ready to pass the Trials. And Superman saves the moment by announcing a mission, apparently project CADMUS, the breeders of monsters of the DCAU exist in this continuity and their HQ is conveniently on fire. Why is that a Justice League alert anyway? Do they monitor the place? Or do they react to every fire, road accident and the like? Clark is interrupted by Zatara who warns about

“The sorcerer Wotan is using the amulet of Aten to blot out the sun.” And what Wotan does have to gain for doing this? Supervillains… More importantly if the League is going to fight the evil sorcerer, the sidekicks will… No. I've got to stop this before it starts.

“Sirs?” The mentors’ eyes turn to me. At least they are not glaring yet. Still I inhale deeply and prepare myself for an argument.

“Considering the fire department seems to have things relatively in hand, perhaps the others and I could go to Cadmus and help speed-up the rescue efforts. It’s not dangerous and would be a good outing for everyone concerned” Well considering CADMUS' other incarnations and the way my first outing went, I’m sure I’m lying. However, that seems to convince Batman and the others enough. It’s Aquaman that acquiesces after a quick glance.

“You will help the fire department and content yourself with that. No investigating unless you come right in the middle of a crime. No stupid heroics whatsoever. Is that clear.”

While the sidekicks nod their approval I’m sure I can see the gears turning in their heads to assert the manner they will twist these orders around. Forwarding Cadmus’ location to us is easy and they are already leaving the room with me in toe when Flash’s voice resounds, half-joking, half-deadly serious:

“You realize if something happens to them, it’ll be your fault?”

Well I hadn’t thought of that. But then But then how difficult will convincing three teenagers to restrain themselves to the actual mission be?. And at least now the League will know where we are.


	16. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 2

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 2  
WASHINGTON DC.  
July, 4, 2010 2:30 P.M

 

“So, not to sound ungrateful and all that, but why did you help us?” After seeing my confounded face, Robin continues: “You know, proposing we go to CADMUS and convincing them to accept.”

Because I rather would cut my own hand rather than believe even for a moment you were going to obey them and stay at the Hall of Justice on your own. When I was fifteen, it would have taken me five minutes to hatch some ridiculous plan like “let’s solve the League’s case for them” and you are so much more independent than I. Also I’m sure I would have been responsible for your little group anyway and be unable to stop you from doing something idiotic. Well, I can’t exactly say all that out loud so let’s been diplomatic.

“You don’t seem the kind to stay doing nothing when you can help. Besides I was in the Hall for nearly two weeks. I was going to crack without some action!”

We’re running to Project CADMUS headquarters. In this reality the building is simply two-stories high, which seems very suspicious to me. For the moment my knowledge of this world from your outside has proven reliable: Most of the people I know from the comics are present and their alignment remains the same. So seeing as Cadmus ranged from Luthor own private society to government-agency with a mad scientist license, I’m pretty sure they’re hiding something. The building is close to the Hall of Justice, which makes me question the League’s operations seeing as they want the place investigated but didn’t even bother with a cursory X*ray vision sweep or Green Ring Scan.

“What are your powers anyway? You don’t seem superhuman. Are you trained in the mystic art?” I suffer for poor Aqualad, he’s visibly the calmest of the bunch and the most restrained one, but his companions couldn’t listen to his suggestions less. I’m wondering what he will think of having someone who actually follow his plans for once.

“I’m able to channel the essence of a god into my flesh, to take their powers as my own and their weapons for my usage.”

We stop, the building is just ahead on the street and even my companions know better than to rush in a burning house without thinking. While they observe their surroundings I decide to make a demonstration. As I suspect foul play without knowing exactly what it is I’m picking the overkill option. In the JL cartoon CADMUS created Doomsday after all. So I signal the young heroes to wait a moment and see as I intone.

“Glad of War, All Father, King of the Gods, Gallows God, God of the Runes, Thief of Kvasir’s mead, Rune-Holder, Gugnir’s Bearer, Balmung’s Giver, I call upon you! God of War with many names, God of Magic of multiples runes, I summon you. Give me strength and cunning beyond mortal ken. Raven God whose thought and memory fly by the vast world, look upon your supplicant. Chooser of the Slain gaze upon your servant from your lofty throne and give me weapons and magic. Odin son of Bor, I invoke your name and your power!”

Odin’s presence is most contradictory. You feel what you would expect to feel while channeling a Norse God. Joy in your heart, hot meat filling your belly, warmth in your veins making you swift to anger and eager to laugh. You feel strong, cocky, ready to take the whole world. Poetry is in your mouth ready to fly in the air even as you slay your enemies. Yet it is quickly tempered by ancient cruel wisdom. Your mind expand in unexpected direction as old cunning fills your brain. Your tongue becomes quick to lie and trick. Your flesh hardens not like an athlete or a fighter accustomed to playful wounds but like one who nine days whole hanged from a tree nailed by a spear in his breast.

As I learn to summon the gods, their clothing goes with me with much less awkwardness. I’m clad now in chainmail adorned with silent runes. On my head is a winged helm. In my hand lies a spear whose shaft bears ancient oaths and at my belt rests in a sword its sheath. Hanging from my belt are two treasures precious despite their appearance: A small purse containing the runes and a skin filled with sweet mead. It contrasts heavily with the costumes of my impromptu team but judging from their expression it’s suitably impressive.

We get back to running now. The acrid smell of smoke becomes more and more pronounced. The fire is indeed a small one and, to speak the truth, the fire department seems to have no need of us.

Scratch that an explosion sends two scientists flying before Kid Flash runs to them. Damn seeing super-speed in action is very different of seeing it in a screen. I actually see the image of the speedster flicker a moment while he appears scant moments away griping from a window of the building.

Robin is the next to run, grappling from a fireman’s ladder to jump at the window and help Kid Flash to the room. I hope they will wait for us to get there at least. Not counting they seem to have forgot all about the fire. I turn to Aqualad who is visibly distraught but very much not surprised.

“Join them if you can and try to convince them to wait for me. I’m taking care of the fire.”

The Atlantean runs and manage to use water from a hose to form a whirlpool and ascend to his friends. I’m happy to see he takes the time to help two stranded people along the way. Now it’s my turn I’m concentrating when one of the firemen accost me:

“Hey Viking-guy! You’re planning to help while your friends are up there.”

I smile without answering, still concentrating on the runes. For such a warlike deity in a warlike pantheon, Odin is quite the sorcerer and I know more about ancient Norse magic and their imitators than more ancient magic system. I select from the bright graphemes before my closed eyes those I need and I begin.

“By the Torch and the Craftsman, by the Pierced Hand and the Need, by the Giant and the Ice. Fire is tamed. Muspel fights Nifhel and the two create the world. Kenaz above, Naudhiz aside, Isaz in front KNI”

The fire begins to calm under my words but it is not enough. I twist my body, my limbs extended in the very shapes of the runes, reproducing my spell in gestures rather in world and more flames are put out. The rest should be easy for the firemen to extinguish. I gaze upwards and see Robin and the others are waiting for me. I turn for the fireman that talked to me and points the window.

“Name’s Dante mister. Now that the fire is under control could you please bring the ladder to this window. My young companions are waiting.”

Surprisingly he agrees. Well perhaps in this world a hero can benefit from some leeway and I did their jobs for them after all. It takes only a few minutes for me to regroup with the others.

Who then tell me they saw a horned humanoid descend through a nearby elevator and they want to investigate. Of course they want to. I sigh while Aqualad forces opens the gates revealing a deep chasm, much too deep for the official building to handle. I wince when I hear Robin propose we wait to learn whatever they are hiding before contacting the League. Seriously have these guys even see a movie or something. I take my sternest tone.

“We’re not going to do that” Robin and Kid Flash’s expressions are firmly in the “are you thinking you can stop us territory” but I continue: “We’re informing the League right now we’re going down. If these sub-levels managed to avoid League’s detection I’m betting CADMUS can monitor or block communications from them.” Well it is what I would do if I was a supervillain in an underground lair.

“Don’t make these faces, they are still busy with Wotan and will be for a moment. It’s just a safety precaution.” In the case of our untimely demise by Doomsday, but that I keep for myself.

Fortunately, Robin has the good sense to send a message to the Hall of Justice before we jump down the shaft to Project CADMUS real labs.


	17. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 3

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 3  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,4,2010, 2:45PM

Seeing super-strength in action is impressive. It’s something to hear about feats of strength or see them through a screen, it’s another entirely to see one of your comrades tear away open steel gates. We are sub-level 26 of project CADMUS, twenty-four levels beyond what the company declares having and I’m sure juicer stuff awaits. Kid Flash is prancing about, visibly waiting for us to get up to speed and run for… I don’t think he knows what he wants us to find really. Robin is nimbly prodding along the hallway, apparently seeking an entry point for his computer. Strange I didn’t think hacking worked that way but then we’re in comic-book land so I’m ready to be open-minded about the possibilities of science here.

Kid Flash finally gives up and simply runs ahead of us, trying the “I already looked the entire building” routine. We see him stop abruptly before jumping back towards us while we hear the rumbling of great beasts walking and trampling.

What are these things? They look like no animal I know of. Grey and hard skin, marred with tears and exposed muscle tissues. No apparent ears. Two great tusks protruding from their face and fangs in their mouths? Their forelegs end in prehensile hands but they walk on all four. I gasp between my teeth:

“Behold Behemoth which I made as I made you. Behold the strength residing in his loins.”

For it’s the only comparison I can draw. These beasts are obviously the product of human science or magic and but what alchemy was used in their making, I can’t tell. At least my companions are as flabbergasted as I am. I was beginning to think I was the only one to be surprised by weird science come to life.

Then I notice them, riding on the head of the great beasts. Little crouched pale-skinned imps, nearly invisible compared to the bulk of their mounts but assuredly in control. Telepathic control? Pheromones? Whatever the case they must be used to control the larger beasts. I wonder what the great beasts would do if their rider was dismounted or killed. Would they stamp across the laboratories? Would they stay docile until new orders were issued? Either way it could be useful if we have to made an escape.

The herd passes us by before I have the chance to test my theories. Not a problem, I would be surprised if that was the last we see one of these imps. They seem both fragile and indispensable to control other beasts so in case of a fight it should be important to take them out first. But some things to do before that. I go to Kid Flash’s side before dragging him out of his astonishment:

“Fancy yourself being trampled?”

He shrugs, from what I see from the others’ faces, him running ahead without looking ahead must be a regular occurrence. I shake my head in incomprehension. What are these kids taught by their mentors? More importantly didn’t they have impressed in their minds their work, our work, is dangerous? There are things who can catch even a speedster after all. Never mind, if they survived their cities’ rogues, they can take care of themselves. We go on until we see…

Another kind of creature. Are they breeding beasts for specific purposes? Are we going to find parts of the lab clad in living flesh, sphincters gates leading to rooms with beating walls? Are we going to have to put down “escaped experiments” when the scientists leading this thing will inevitably toy with forces they cannot fathom? All is possible but still I cannot help to admire these particular beings.

Their forms are obscured by their own bio-luminescence but they look insectoid. Each is trapped in a glass sphere like insects in amber, wreathed in lightning and linked to the general circuit. I can nearly feel the power that emanates from them. How is this possible? I know some creatures produce light to help them lure prey or see in the stygian depths of the oceans but electricity? Electricity in quantities meant to be harvested and controlled?

This is science-fiction territory. People able to gather and birth such things would theoretically be capable of all things created by the Bene Tleilax and perhaps even more. Clones, replacement parts, specification-crafted human beings, the possibilities are endless. What I don’t understand is, even if I’m very much not a scientist, it seems to me the mere preliminary work before the creation of these things would be hugely invaluable. Yet, according to Robin’s info CADMUS deal in ordinary, at least to my eyes, work as far as genetic research is concerned.

Robin is currently hacking the mainframe and trying to get what makes this place a secret. Because Robin, breeding monsters is bad for PR, it tends to make people associate you with crazy supervillains and mad scientists with delusion of godhood. It’s like biological immortality: Can you imagine a company researching to unlock the secrets of deathlessness in a world where mystic forces are provable and the whole thing not going horribly wrong?

“Well it’s officially whelming” I don’t know if that’s a word Robin. On his holographic computer’s screen are exposed all the catalogued sub-species of “genomorphs” and their assorted qualities. Telepathy, razor claws, acid spit, steel web, flight, omniphagia. Name your poison and chances are a genomorph has it. Aqualad recognize the silhouette he saw going through the elevator. G-Goblin, highly telepathic and destined for foreman and leadership. This one is surely sentient even if I still believe G-Gnomes, the little imps are nothing more than relays.

“These are living weapons!” Robin exclamation could be the truth but looking on their stats I don’t think so.

“Most of them are but some are obviously destined for civil work: Beasts of burden, communcations relays, miners, workers in dangerous environments.”

“In any case,” interjects Kid Flash, “they are slaves. At least some of them are classed as sentient as Red Tornado or a Morrow type AI.”

“We must alert the League immediately!” I would agree Aqualad if this was possible. I’m betting our communications are already intercepted. If these gnomes are telepaths our presence must have been picked on earlier. Worst case, a squad is on the way right now.

I play with my mead skin; the draught would send me into a trance where I could get insight on what CADMUS real projects are but would incapacitate me for a bit. So I wait for a real mystery where we will have to be sure to not let anything escape us.

No surprise, the League cannot be contacted but Robin has found something even more interesting than living weapons: “Project KR held in sub-sector 52.” KR? Krypton? Kryptonite? Are they trying to synthetize kryptonite? No that’s not a biological component so I don’t think their techniques can help them in that endeavor. Perhaps they want to create someone like Mettallo capable of channeling the deadly rock, but how would they do that? Cloning Kryptonian life? Much better chances to be that but what or who? Doomsday or Superman? That’s the question.

We’re agreeing to try to identify this project KR when we hear the coming of a squad.

They are numerous. Twenty creatures in all. Ten are what they call G-Elves even if I can’t fathom why they are named thus. They are crouched, walking on four legs but their front limbs are clawed and their hind legs are built for the jump and the chase. Their faces are twisted in violent unthinking grins, long pointed ears trembling in the air. Five are of the G-Basilisk drooling creatures with acidic spit and soporific breath. The last five are G-Gargoyles flying above us with leathery wings, watching us with hungry gazes.

And among them and above them a living man. Clad in blue and gold with a golden shield on his right arm, he leads them confidently. On his shoulder one of the wretched imps is sitting like some parody of one’s inner angel. His voice is clear to our ears and his voice reassuring. Nonetheless my hand find the guard of my sword and I recoil behind my comrades as I slowly unsheathe it.

“Kid Flash, Robin, Aqualad? What are you doing here? And who is this guy?”

Not charging at our sight? Good but the imp can still relay orders or twist the thoughts of a man. Aqualad seems to recognize our glorified security guard.

“I know you. You are Guardian, a hero!”

Guy, have you seen what he’s leading? At best he’s a pawn, at worst an accomplice. Either case means a fight. Guardian announces us he’s chief of security here and we’re trespassing. True but not important. Besides what is a hero without a little breaking and entering? My sword is nearly ready in my hand I whisper to it while I can:

“Gram and Balmung I name you: Truth-bearing blade, what you touch, you hurt.” Runes slightly glower on the blade while I ready myself. Kid Flash’s voice is nearly inaudible so focused I am on my gestures.

“You’re breeding weapons!”

I crouch slightly, ready to jump. Not yet, not yet. The time is almost there but not yet. Wait until they attack. I eye the gnome on his shoulder. Its horns flash red and Guardian’s demeanor change and he orders his forces to show us no mercy.

I jump on him, blade at the ready, and with a battle-cry, strikes the gnome. The devilish creature dodges my blow and scamper on the ground.

Then battle is joined.


	18. Episode: Dragon's Teeth: Part 4

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 4  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,4,2010, 2:55PM

My sword strikes Guardian’s golden shield in a shower of sparks. Battle-lust is in my veins now and I surrender eagerly to the red mist filling my head. Dangerous thing to do, but in a fight with monsters with claws able to rake metal and breath that corrodes solid steel, it is more dangerous to deny myself a useful weapon. I won’t host Lord Odin’s essence in my flesh while I’m not sure Guardian could then survive the onslaught. The genomorphs though? None of the specimens we are fighting are noted as sentient in CADMUS’ files. I know them as beasts. And as beasts shall I treat them.

Smoke fills the air as Robin drops one of his grenades and disappears in the mist. A few moments later I hear the sound of his grapple biting one of the gargoyles’ wings and suddenly retracting, dragging the creature to the ground and into Robin’s batarangs’ path. At the edge of my vision I see him, rolling and dodging, launching on the enemy his reserve of projectiles. Some explode, some electrify their targets, some simply strike but all wound. He’s quick enough to avoid to be torn apart par the raging G-Elves. Still a gout of acidic spit aimed at his feet forces him to stay in the midst of the action.

Kid Flash has opted to walk on the walls and jump in the fray with super speed. His blows are more powerful I would have thought as he’s able to at least stun the creatures and he’s certainly agile enough to avoid their blows. Still they try to surround him, to restrain the range of his movements while flying creatures pick him from the above. Still he avoids them, charges at the most battered by Robin’s assault and pummels them at super-speed. While not impressive as the explosion I would expect for a blow at such a speed, his powers seem to knock them out and I hear several bones break under his fists.

Aqualad has unsheathed his own weapons, two hollow handles filled with water. His tattoos flare as the water surges to form a machete-like blade and a spiked mace. From my readings, I associate two-weapons fighting with gladiators and show-off but Orin’s apprentice is neither. He disdains the Elves to charge at the loathsome Basilisks that coil around us, trying to corral us between acidic slime and razor-sharp blades. I don’t know how his weapons can maintain their cohesion, let alone wound foes but wound them they do: Deep blue gashes appear where his blade strikes while visible hematomas reveal themselves after a passage of his mace. The Basilisks, white as the others genomorphs, their resemblance with a snake broken by the human-like face and the faceted eyes on their head, try to counter-attack but recoil from the fury of his assaults.

We are reducing the numerical advantage by the minute, but they are still ten of them and Guardian for the four of us. For the moment our fury or our superhuman skills have compensated for the coordinated tactics of the squad but I prefer not to think what would have become of a human unit if it had been assaulted by such a pack. Tattered bodies in bloody lumps is the image coming to mind. If CADMUS’ goals is to breed an army, the creatures they crafted are efficient even while needing a little more work.

As for me, my own berserk rage is barely enough to hold off Guardian. He’s quick, quicker than I would have imagined of a man in such armor, his fists made my chainmail ring ominously when they strike it while my sword cannot notch his shield. From my spars with the Justice League I would consider him on par with this august body as of unharmed combat.

Still while I fight him I’m trying to piece the location of the gnome clouding his mind. If only I can find it and kill it. One of the gargoyles dives at me, trying to rake my neck with its powerful claws, but I dodge the flying creature and, guided by my sword, manage to cut one of his forelegs. The wound seals immediately without bleeding and the gargoyle just attacks me with more ferocity, forcing me to defend myself against it and Guardian.

What can I use? Magic? No I will be dead before intoning the first spell. Lord Odin’s Essence? No I would kill Guardian, which would alienate me from the League and the team. No, the solution is to surrender to the red mist, to surrender to the rage, to answer fury to fury and strength to strength. Odin is the giver of rage to those who wears the bear-shirt and so he helps me.

Everything in my field of vision turns red. Pain ceases to matter as my blood is pumped full of adrenaline and other stimulants. I cease to think, letting my sword move of its own accord. Named sword, living sword, well not living until I reach my full potential but it’s the thought that counts in these matters. I’m not myself anymore. I’m enraged, striking, dodging, parrying in an endless circle but part of my mind stays attentive, stays concentrated on my true target.

Strike, a lung pierced, a limb cut, a sword ringing on a neckbone. Parry, steel against bone, claw against sword, strength against strength. Dodge, claws raking my neck, acid burning my hand, lungs full of something trying to dull my edge. No thought. No thought. Just the raw need to break something, to let something loose, to see blood flow and so relieve my needs. They wound me. They wound me but I don’t feel them. I’m all in readiness.

And at last I catch it, my sword picks it on the floor and runs him through. Turns out they are pretty resistant but can still die if the heart is destroyed. Good to know. Its death-scream rings in all our minds, deafening us with psychic torment. Surviving creatures and Guardian fall on the floor as we are stunned for a few minutes.

Still we won our first engagement, that will be a thing to celebrate when the mission will end. But no prancing around in bear pelt while the beast still lives. We hear the rumbling of many steps, of many squads on our way, and run to the elevators, to the bottom of this hole, to project KR.


	19. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 5

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 4  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,4,2010, 3:10PM

The elevator is rather cramped for four people. I imagine the genomorphs, at least the non-humanoid ones use other ways to move across the buildings. Which begs the dread and terrible question: How much time before another squad or three is on our tracks? My highest hope is sub-level 52 is one of these places with only one access and one exit for security purposes. In the worst case, well I’m fully decided to push my comrades to flee while I summon Lord Odin’s manifestation and test if I can be killed in this form.

My comrades are not very happy with me at this exact moment but I think it’s mostly the shock. Apparently I killed two or three creatures back there and the young heroes do protest a bit too much for my tastes. They were trying to kill us and had good chances to succeed in their attempt; even if they were sentient, which I doubt, we would have been perfectly fine according to the law to defend ourselves. And yes killing the damnable gnome was self-defense, and moral to boot, as it was using Guardian as a weapon against us.

I think they know that. Hell, Aqualad seems more shocked at seeing creatures, as inhuman as they were, hacked apart and beheaded than by the principle of the things. Robin and Kid Flash are more distraught but, again, I think this is their first time seeing someone being controlled remotely by telepathy. As I read in the League’s files, at least those they let me read, talented mind readers are rare, even Martian Manhunter would have difficulty controlling Guardian so tightly, but then he’s not, by his account, the mightiest mind of his race.

To break the ice during the long, long elevator ride, I decide to try to break the ice: “So what do you think we’re going to find in this Project KR? My guess is a huge kryptonite lizard monster. Then we will have to fight it before he destroys Washington.”

Aqualad looks at me dumbfounded while the two others spot the reference. Fortunately, the differences in artistic productions between this world and mine are minor, I have spotted some: Apparently Vampire Chronicles was made in blockbuster saga at the same time Twilight got made in my parallel. Unfortunately, the quality is not that good and the producers thought particularly clever to insert tons of Batman references.

But then every media in this planet seems filled to the brim with superhero references, they are partly mythic icons and celebrities: their life is imagined by every tabloid in the planet. You haven’t had a good laugh here before having read the story of the torrid and tragic and doomed love between Batman and Bruce Wayne. I’m still wondering why this one let the most outlandish rumors fly on his subject actually. As long as it’s not criminal you can practically accuse him of sleeping with all American’s jet-set without raising a fuss.

Still that means I have a nice common ground with the others when helpful subjection of “giant robot powered by kryptonite hearth” and “legion of kryptonite-armored space marines” are offered. At least it makes them smile by the time the elevator opens its doors on the last sub-level.

Well its vaster than I thought and looking very different from what I expected. We descend in the middle of a labyrinth of caves. I think some of the Genomorphs could have dug them before they installed the strange machines protruding from the wall. No purpose I can guess but then mad science loves installing machines everywhere.

“We’re not running anywhere blind. This place is good for getting lost” declares Aqualad. Good thinking as is Kid Flash’s addition.

“I think it’s there the genomorphs live” he says pointing hive-like apertures in the ceiling and the walls. “How many of these beasts do they breed anyway?” Pens and pens I’d wager. I have no clue on their lifespan but it can’t be very long. Are they even able to reproduce? None I saw presented sexual characteristics of any kind but with monsters, that’s not exactly always apparent. Ruthless but sane scientists would make them sterile but then nothing I saw here screams good scientist to me.

No computer connection means it’s my turn to guide. I inhale slowly while calling Perthro, the lot-cup who guides stranded travelers along their wyrd. I intone

“By the Favorable and the Matrix. By the guide in the wyrd and the labyrinth. By Ariadne and the Dice. The Norns weave the fate, I realize it. Guide us and show us the way to our goal: Perthro!”

The rune manifests as a feeling, tingling as we hasten along the directions spotting more and more machines without evident purpose. Some are activated by the small electricity producing creatures but we can’t understand their design. Even Robin and Kid Flash who, so far, have demonstrated a comprehension of science deeper than I ever mastered are aghast by what they see.

Of course the gates to project KR is closed. A good gate. I would be very astonished if it was made in something as pedestrian as steel. If my suspicions are correct, it should be more resistant on the inside than the outside. But again, it’s no sure thing so let’s see. Aqualad and I can perhaps destroy the gate with his strength and my sword and runes. I turn towards Robin.

“You wouldn’t have picked the Batman’s trick to appear with exactly what we need, would you? A nice package of C-4 could come in handy there.” He grins as he pulls what seems to be a fragment of clay from his utility belt.

“Don’t need it Dante. You are so violent, all the gate needs is a little Robin’s touch and all will be well.” He quickly prances to the access pad and begin to furiously type on his holographic computer and, soon, the gates open by itself without a sound.

Well, all all this has been easy so far? No, not easy, but at least not horrendously difficult resulting in our untimely horrid death. So, as we enter, I prepare myself for the worst.

In the end I’m not disappointed. Yes, it is not Doomsday or Bizzaro or even Metallo, so that’s a relief. A short-lived relief though as I glance across the room to the pods.

Not one but three, each containing a human, or near-human being. They are all glowing softly, indeed they provide the illumination for the room. What’s inside is difficult to see at first, crouched in fetal position in a bright liquid I guess is made of nutriments. These are gestation pods, this is clear from the first glance, so I’m guessing clones. However why three and who are they? I’m not very surprised to see Superman’s face leering at me from one of them but only one of them is an adult. Also two of the pods are engraved with sigils none of my comrades recognize. Some of them are pretty generic or could be, a spiral, an ouroboros. Above each of them, a capsule containing three gnomes.

I approach the pod containing the adult. It is strange to gaze to an imitation of Superman in such a vulnerable position, strange and rather disquieting. His traits are just visible in the unearthly glow of his nutritive soup. What is it made of? It stinks. It really stinks and I cannot place where I smelled that before only that I did. Wait! Manure, it’s manure! But why? I remember in a flash.

Horse dung, human sperm, some medicinal herbs, put in a closed environment above a small fire for forty days. It’s not science, even mad science, it’s alchemy. That explains the sigils on that one, looking more closely I manage to piece the seven metals and the seven planets and one I don’t know but who seems to incorporate fragments of the Philosopher’s Sulphur and the Philosopher Egg: the sperm and the womb of the great work. That raises more questions than it answers.

This thing is nearly mature. That’s evident even not knowing when it was created. While normally the begetting process needs a dose of sperm I suppose blood could work. Not that would be so much easier to obtain without Superman’s permission. And he doesn’t know that or he would not have warned the League about the fire.

And the two others? Are they also created magically? If that’s the case they are at wildly different maturity levels. The one I’m examining is a full adult who could even pass for Superman without many problems. The one Aqualad is looking at, while the two others are arguing about the stats they are finding on Robin’s computer, seems to be a teenager, sixteen-years old. I turn my gaze to them, my real gaze who sees the frontiers of life and what I see…

“This one is a homunculus.” I point to the nearest while my comrades raise their ears. I point to the one none of us have approached yet. In the fringes of the underworld his pod radiates living shadows blacker than the ones in the swamp. For the first time, my eyes are attracted to the pipes network linking the pods together.

“This one has been dead for several days.” I swallow a bit before continuing, unsure how to break the subject.” Yet he’s still dreaming, he’s still sort-of-conscious.”


	20. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 6

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 6  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,4,2010, 3:15PM

The mead in my mouth tasted of fire but down my throat the taste became sweet honey. Knowledge tends to behave in the exactly contrary way, sweet in the mouth but in the entrails bitter. I took the mead after explaining to my comrades it was an easy way to gain the knowledge even the secret files of CADMUS would hide. Even the trances was not a problem, considering we are standing behind a solid gate and, I didn’t say that of course, could be protected by the three of them until I woke with new-found purpose. Robin is still trying to break the encryption on this place’s records. The fact they are not only encrypted in the usual manner but written in some sort of alchemical cipher I’m sure only Batman or Zatarra can understand doesn’t make me hopeful.

So I took my skin and drank half of it in one go. I’ve never tasted mead before but I’m sure it’s not meant to be so burning or so sweet on the tongue. Still I’m grateful it tastes so good, even before the vision takes hold of me. I scream as I fall on the hard ground, twisting and shaking from all limbs. It’s not the orderly predictions of prophecy, the simple alignment of tarot cards for a reading or even a casting of runes in a chalk circle. It’s the revelation at the heart of every psychotropic ever ingested, the wisdom you gain by losing all you are in the great bliss of artificial paradises. There was a time, in my world, where I tried to experience it by willful starvation and sleep deprivation. That never worked of course even if my dreams afterward were strange and disquieting. But this is a different world and all my rites and fancies are true or can come true by the favor of the gods.

I am in the middle of a barren field bordering a city of Greece. I don’t recognize it but I notice the red fountains and the bubbling water. An eagle is eating a serpent on a nearby small tree. In the field labors a man of regal appearance. A standard Greek hero this one, clad in leather, bare chested and sweating under the hot sun. He’s sowing something in the bare earth, each time taking a full handful of dragon’s teeth and throwing them away. Only now do I notice his hands are facing the wrong direction, strangely adjusted to the wrists. It should remind me of something but what?


	21. Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 7

I don’t wait for the three clones to jump again against the barrier to launch another array of spells. I have no desire to fight them before they tire themselves against my walls and my comrades are content to wait behind me. My incantations come rough from my throat, each more memory and instinct than really well thought plan. Nevertheless, I’m sure it will work for a time; until we discover what the homunculus and the undead can do. First I trace from the tip of my sword the knot-form of Othala the rune of home while intoning:   
“By the Legacy and the Gift of the Evening. You who rules all sacred spaces. For in his home the eagle remains secure, help us reinforce our ramparts. OALU!”   
This works. The form I traced is now bright blue on bright white, a new layer of protection. However, I’m not yet done. As quickly as possible I trace the eight branches of Hagal on the floor, Hagal who looks like a H with the transversal bar doubled and inclined. Hagal who served in ancient times to delimit the ritual space. I trace the rune at my feet and try to make it as large as possible, encompassing my companions in its embrace.   
“You the Red, Ymir’s daughter and the Hail. Because Hropt loved the ancient world we shelter under your wings. HALU!”  
We are bathed in red light, like flames who do not burn us. I’m sure it will burn our enemies though. I’m hesitating to launch a third spell like in the novel I read but I decide against. If I was alone, I would create the Cosmic Egg of Mannaz to place myself out of reach but I could not use the rune to protect the others. Still three layers of protections are better than one and I’m confident it will bear at least one more assault.   
The young heroes are arrayed for battle. Aqualad is sporting two water-machete. Good! If his weapons are magical it could seriously hurt our adversaries. Kid Flash is crouched in readiness, ready to charge the first to break the shield. Robin has disappeared in the shadows but I’m sure he’s examining when and where he will be able to strike most effectively. They have not worked together all three, but they fought in teams of two and after the fight with Guardian can coordinate a little.   
As for myself, I slowly work my way to frenzy. I look to the undead clone. I smell the stink of necromancy on him and that disgusts me. Not because it offends the god I’m joined with, gods know necromancy is one of Odin’s pastime but because it offends me deeply. Dead should remain dead and not trouble the living with their problems. That’s also the fact I’m sure its state was not an accident. Someone purposely thought the dead carcass of Superman would be perhaps more willing to serve than a living being. The other two don’t disturb me. I pity the homunculus doomed to die as quickly as he grew and the clone because it’s only a weapon in the hands of despicable beings. I also pity the undead and I decided to grant him peace.   
They are waiting behind the shimmering wall, without a sound. Receiving orders perhaps, or crafting a strategy? I’m not sure of their level of intelligence but except if they are berserkers I would expect they’re at a human’s scale.   
One moment they’re immobile and the next they launch themselves. The homunculus claps his hands marked with the sigil for iron and similar etchings burns bright around his body. It doesn’t try to charge the barrier but he runs for its pod, seizes it in both hands and with a grunt of effort tear it from the ground. Even as I simmer, I can’t help but being impressed when it turns around himself with the pod and hurls it right on the barrier. The pod crumbles to nothing when it meets my spell, but the wall shakes under the strain and a neat scar appears across its surfaces. I raise my sword, crouches my own legs and prepare to jump.   
The undead is the next. As soon as the scar appears it looks at it with angry eyes. Two beams of pure cold race to the wound in my defenses and the wall is covered in ice. This thing is definitively Bizzaro with its inverted powerset. Seeing its first attack vain the monster inhales deeply before releasing a sphere of fire on its target, then another, then another until the scar widens at its liking. It is immediately joined by the homunculus who points its hands to the breach and releases lightning. Lightning? How did they create this thing and how can it do that? Lightning, ice and fire strike again and again and again until the wall at last give way breaking in glass-like splinters on the floor.   
The clone moves at this moment, as fast as a speeding bullet, it launches himself at us. He’s stopped in its track by the flames of Hagal, motes of light surrounding his arms, lighting his skin, wreathing it in low-intensity fire. Pain doesn’t seem to stop it as it moves towards us, shambling and relentless, its brothers in tow. Hagal is struggling to contain them, to slow them but they cannot be turned from their purpose so easily. The Great Mother’s rune breaks as the walls, branches extinguished, its energy all spent in wounding the three creatures.   
And wounded they are. Nothing too grave, at least not yet, but still they are bleeding, their skin is burnt as if by a candle. The homunculus is leaking small doses of stagnant liquid which is certainly no blood while the undead is spewing black sludge. They shamble like zombies but stiffen themselves as they walk, recouping from the sudden unexpected pain.  
I don’t wait for them to regain their bearing as the fury I welled up expresses itself. There’s something liberating in surrendering to the red, to forget pain, fear and hesitation in one terrible wave. To let instinct or what passes for it in my case take command of your body and move it at its leisure. I run to the undead and unleashes a flurry of blows he doesn’t even try to parry. The blade bites in the flesh, grating at the bones with a wet sound. My opponent gazes on me with his cold vision and I scream, more from surprise than pain, as one of my hands is covered in ice. I redouble my attack, targeting at random throat, wrists and face. If it is as resistant as it seems, piercing it will gain me nothing but a stuck sword. Better to cut it to pieces.   
It counter-attacks of course and I recoil as it unleashes a stream of fire from its mouth. I draw back, faster and faster, unable to counter the flames pouring at me. My comrades fare little better. While they were not surprised by the assault as they could have been, and dance at the edge of my vision, dodging fighting, hitting, they are not so powerful as to counter their opponents. More time. If they had more time to work all three together, even without me, they would have won this even by now. Teamwork and coordination can generally overcome superior individuals. As it is now, each of us resists by his raw power and in this team I have the most of it for the moment.   
The fight lasts what seems an eternity before the two others clones comes to me. Apparently they have finished with my comrades. Bad, very bad. From my experience even the mantle of a god cannot guarantee victory against Superman, even less against three. I hear pounding at the door. Other genomorphs I’d wager. My blade moves of its own accord but it’s time to cut my losses and try what I may. While I was fighting the sixteenth rune presented itself in my mind. The sixteenth rune Sowelo like the sixteenth Arcanum, the sun and the primal fire and the lightning and the destruction. I visualize its lightning shape, I trace it in the air with my sword, even as I’m pummeled by my opponents, feeling no pain only because I’m in a trance.  
“By the power of the Wheel and the Root. Breaker of Chains and Great Sustainer. I kneel before the sacred and bend to your will. Fall like thunder and render judgement now. SOWELO!”  
The fire doesn’t come from above obviously; it doesn’t even come from the ground as if I had summoned Kenaz. It springs from my own body lighting the room in bright white flame. For a moment I become flame and whirlwind and the thing hidden beneath the old symbolism of the swastika. The power washes over me and my comrades lying on the ground and it strikes the creatures. The clone is the least affected but the two others screams and howl as they turn to ashes and cinders, flame springing from their own bodies to consume them.   
I fall on the ground. The pain of every wound I sustained in the battle, and they seem to be quite a few, is wracking my bones and leaving me unable to stand. I try to hold to my consciousness but I fail miserably and my mind sinks under black waters.


	22. Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 8

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 8  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,5,2010, 0.01 AM

Darkness everywhere around me, the sensation of drowning beneath black waves as the world spins out of control around me. Sinking deeper, always deeper into unconsciousness, not remembering my name or my goal. My thoughts turn around me, bright stars I can’t catch, cloud I’m forced to let pass by. I vaguely know what I feel is like sleep but also very different. A voice I don’t know screams in my ears, trying without successes to slow my descent. It’s useless. All I feel is weight of water above me, crushing me under old forgotten shames, eyes turned inside, not feeling pain anymore, not seeing anything of the world, oblivious to which I’m dead or alive.

Something try to make contact with me. Its, his, it feels definitively male, touch is hesitant as he didn’t want to be near me but steeled himself for the greater good. Thoughts who are not mine try to peer under the deep ocean, catch my sleeping sinking form and begin to surround me. I feel disgust at the necessity of the action, temptation to let simply go and let him/me at my/his fate. Yet, he decides to accomplish what he was going to do. His power coils around me and drags me upwards, painful memory by painful memory, until my head is above the water and I can hear and think anew.

Thus I know I’m in the space of my mind, a representation of my consciousness and that I have at least one ally here. I call Vergil who has been silent since I took Odin’s mantle, surely because he has nothing snarky to say before the mission ends and he’ll be able to tear me a new one without being interrupted. With a sigh the psychic scenery changes, becoming a forest of yews and ashes. I remember the fight briefly. I must have fallen unconscious at the end. However, even Vergil can’t give me details on what happened after.

The psychic intruder bids me to awaken and I do, racing upwards until I regain mastery of my bruised limbs. Such is my situation I almost fall back in unconsciousness: I’m still drowning, surrounded by re-transparent liquid. I try to stop my respiration by instinct but my lungs are burning and I open mouth and nose at the same time. To my surprise the liquid, not water and tasting awful, is respirable. What is going on here? Perhaps it is my waking sensations but it seems to me the walls of my pod are beating at the rhythm of some unseen heart. Still I sense the icy touch of syringes and needles piercing my skin in many places. I’m also stark naked.

It takes a few minutes of painful stretching before I consider I’m completely awake and sure of my sensation. My comrades and I are imprisoned in living pod, naked and pierced by an array of medical implements I don’t know the purpose of, not that I want to. From what I see from the other’s vats, at least some of them are collecting bodily fluids of all natures, which is not a good thing to see and feel. I consider my options for a moment. I still sense Odin’s power in me which means I can still mantle him and use some power to break the vat. I’m readying myself to do just that when I see him enter the circle of pods.

He’s less wounded than I thought but then I don’t know how much time passed between our fight and now. Still the bright white suit is in tatters revealing scars of burned tissue. He walks to us without any sign of pain so I assume he’s healed. He considers us carefully. I’m wondering how we appear to him. I know how we appear to humans: strange fetuses peering from red-liquid and mist like Dune’s navigators, but he was grown in one of these pods. Not the exact model, obviously but I will be surprised if we are the first hosts of these machines. Still he looks at us with icy blue eyes, judging us. And then he talks. I mean there was no reason of him not being able to but it’s still a bit surprising.

“My brothers are dead.” And that’s a good new, boy, even if you don’t realize it. Some things are not to be created. His tone is cold, neutral. No not neutral, under the monotone you can hear the slightest bit of wrath. Good. Perhaps we can trick him to crack open the pods. Can we even talk here?

“No but with my help communication will be possible” This voice is true monotome, sounding directly in my head, linking my thoughts with my comrades. I eagerly hail them, happy to confirm no one was left for dead in the battle. Their presence is twitching in the link but they calm themselves as the new presence depart our minds while the link is established.

Our benefactor walks from the shadows. He’s humanoid, near-human in fact. Save for the blue skin and the nearly comical horns protruding from his forehead. His expression is impassible even if I sense a wave of contempt when he looks at me. He stands still near the clone without moving a muscle while we try to contact each other telepathically.

It’s more difficult than it sounds. Translating your thoughts in images and understandable phrases without bearing your heart for all to see is not something you get right the first time. So we spend five minutes to tentatively reach to each other until we are sure we can converse without overwhelming the others parts of the conversation with raw emotion. When he’s satisfied his voice is clear in our minds.

“When I set that fire up, I didn’t foresee what would transpire. I admit I’m not sure what to do now.”

Ok I decide to let my comrades deal with one, after all I’m the one who killed genomorphs so I doubt he’ll be willing to negotiate with me. Also when “he” set that fire up? That raises some questions. Aqualad is nevertheless quick to answer.

“You wanted to be free. You wanted the League to investigate that place.” Again why? Does the League really put all the fires in Washington out? But the guy is an abomination of science so I am not surprised his plan was not the well-thought of. It brought us here so it worked in a fashion. The clone’s voice rings angrily in our ears.

“I’m not going with them. I don’t want to leave here. It’s my home.” The genomorph is not impressed and soothes him, for a certain value of soothing:

“We have already talked about that today brother. You want to see all the G-Gnome have taught you about and they are your best chance to do this, to fulfill your purpose. Nevertheless, you must be freed before that can happen.” He pauses. “Your antics have angered our creator. He spent most of the evening trying to repair Kadmon and Soter. Even my clearance will not help you go back to the surface.”

I decide to intervene: “There will be no need of that. I can transport us out of here. If “Superboy” want to join us, he can.” And I think he will, if not by his own desires then under the influence of Odin’s silver tongue. I look to Robin, trying to distinguish while he’s doing. He’s shaking in his vat, perhaps trying to free himself. Well if one of us could do it, it would be him. “Superboy” thought message to us is strange.

“I knew what I was. I knew of my purpose. Replace the Superman if he’d perish. Destroy him if he’d turn from the light.” If not for the army of abomination against nature I would be very sympathetic to this goal. DC’s earths have tremendous luck when it comes to superhuman and Ka-el in particular. To seek a means to counteract an evil Superman is just common sense. The means employed though… The clone continues.

“I awoke with orders, functions, purposes. I awoke to stop you from… doing something bad. My brothers died and the rage passed and…” he points to the horned genomorph “Dubbilex is telling me we serve bad guys, that I will never meet Superman or one of the others, that they consider me just as a weapon” You are a weapon, boy, crafted to be one anyway. Of course you can transcend your purpose but I doubt we have time for a whole philosophical discussion on your nature now. “I want to see the outside, to see heroes, to see what I’m meant to protect”

I try to smile behind the curtain of red: “Free us and we’ll show you all that. Scout’s honor.”

He exchanges a gaze with Dubbilex then, smiling coldly, puches my pod. The surface doesn’t break like glass but open like a sphincter, letting the strange liquid spill over the floor. Robin’s vat is broken from the outside. I have no idea how he managed to do that but that’s impressive. While he and Superboy frees the others I walk to Dubbilex. We’ll need to recover our costumes, at least Robin’s utility belt and computer, and Aqualad’s water-bearers. And I seem to have forgotten something. Well we intruded upon Cadmus, beat Guardian up, found three, superman pods. Wait, three, my vision said they were four. I tell to Dubbilex.

“We can’t let a Superman’s clone unattended. Where’s the fourth”

The genomorph’s face has at last an expression, surprise but not an unhappy one. I’m sure I’m alone to hear his voice now.

“You seek Match? He’s at this level if you want to take it.”

Match? What kind of name for a clone is that?


	23. Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 9

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 9  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,5,2010, 0.30 AM

What a team we make, walking merrily along CADMUS’ hallways talking along the way of our objectives or newest members. Robin, youngest but not the least, all clad in red and black with more toys in his utility belt than a professional gunman has bullets. Kid Flash running quicker than eye can see like a bolt of yellow, tip-toeing while he waits for us to catch along. Aqualad black and blond and red, two water-bearers at the belt, flippers between his fingers, gills along his neck, the most professional among us. The two new arrivals: Superboy in the tatters of his white solar suit with the S sigil proudly attached on the torso, pacing like a wrathful beast while he considers our objective. Dubbilex, tall gaunt horned and blue, silently linking our thoughts and letting us talk without sounds. And of course myself, neither the least or the greatest of these, dutifully leading to an objective I alone saw.

I’m surprised things have worked so well. The pods were opened without violence, Robin impressed everyone by jumping out of his before Dubbilex commanded the somehow-living thing to release its prey. We recovered our costumes, or in my case conjured them anew from the shadows. Then we destroyed every sample of skin, blood and sperm CADMUS had already extracted. (Finding we were destined to be broken down to our component parts and cloned was not a very good news but fortunately they would have waited to extract all before disposing of us). Still I’m fearing what will come after.

I still think we can’t let Match rot in a pod to be used against the League but my enthusiasm was severely dampened when Dubbilex announced Doctor Desmond, the brain responsible to create his own race, will be attending the pod and the clone. While I would normally not be frightened by a mere human untrained in combat, I remember all too well the two creatures who shared Superboy’s chamber. Alchemy and necromancy point to sorcerous involvement with CADMUS and none of us has ever fought a sorcerer. Even Aqualad trained in Atlantis in battle-magic has only theoretical knowledge of such a fight.

The Cadmus in my vision sported deformed hands and I’m wondering what they could mean. I don’t remember any creatures bar the Indian Rakshasas sporting such deformities and I can’t imagine how an Indian ogre would manage to be employed by even as shady an organization as CADMUS. No matter. Each step along the way to the depths of sub-level 52 brings us near to answers.

Dubbilex speaks with abundance about his people. I was mistaken, genomorphs are sentient but not as individuals. I have not the resources for understand the nature of their intelligence but it seems to be a gestalt of some sort. With exception a single genomorph is a beast, five are child-like and twenty are of human intelligence. Yet in either case they develop their own personalities and keep their individualities. The G-Goblin is surprised of my enthusiastic support for the freedom of his specie, after I have murdered some of them but I seem to have convinced him, with a heavy dose of lord Odin’s manipulative skills, I was mistakenly considering them non-sentient and was defending my own life and that of my comrades.

I don’t know if he believes me but he’s desperate and the League is his best hope for his people anyway.

We arrive to Doctor Desmond private lab. As Dubbilex explains to us, the good doctor is fond of mixing the different CADMUS projects together in his spare time, trying to combine their strength in one terrible being.

Well I must say the lab looks the part. At this depth into Cadmus the walls are irregulars, seeded with genormorphs’ eggs/cocoons who serve as the room’s lighting. The equipment looks normal if a bit unsettling: vivisection table, beakers, vats, sizeable library and all the assorted things. It seems normal before you remark the tiny runic script covering every inch of matter like some hieroglyphs. Even the scalpels and syringes are consecrated like ritual implements. A collection of vats contains deformed specimens at different stage of developments, some looking too much human to my taste. The books seem old, too old for being only scientific volumes. No trace of the good doctor or Match yet, so we advance carefully into the lab, letting Robin leads us in making the less noise possible.

We could have not bothered. We see them both in a secondary room. Like our pods, this one is alive and beats at the rhythm of the thoughts of his host. A collection of vials filled with bright unidentifiable liquids are pumped into the vats, some provoking a shaking or a bulging in the prisoner. Doctor Desmond is at his desk, mixing some kind of concoction, seemingly unaware of our presence.

Robin signals us to stop while he pulls a batarang from his belt. The non-explosive kind, of course. He preps himself and without a sound, launches it directly to the doctor’s head. The weapon flies through and… breaks under the skin while the doctor turns to face us with a smile on his face.

He seems normal enough. In his forties, standard build, a ponytail. His hands are facing the right way but then, even if the vision is to be interpreted literally all that unassuming appearance could just be an illusion. I cast a gaze on the components he was mixing: Dried heart, brain and liver but not human ones, they are far too large for that. The mixture is bright blue, very bright blue, phosphorescent like these radiation-contaminated water in cartoons.

He laughs considering us: “And I was wondering who was the traitor in our organization. Everyone seems to forget their place today. No matter. I guessed you would want to take the last of my children.”

Children? That’s not creepy at all considering one of them was rotting from the inside and the others was destined to die in forty days. But then mad scientists have to be mad.

“So what do we have here? Three sidekicks without their elder and betters. An overseer fancying itself a revolutionary. A weapon pointed to its wielder.” He takes the mixture while gazing at me. “And a fugitive serving wizened obsolete old idols.” Fugitive? What is he talking about? Superman try to jump at him but Desmond already drinks the mixture and changes…

His skin is black, black of starless night not a natural skin color. His eye and mouth are burning with unearthly red fire. He’s tall, two meters at least, perhaps two fifty, all in bound bulging muscles. His hands are definitively attached the wrong way now. Still despite its appearance, his eyes still betray intelligence. He’s has not gone berserk and indeed he laughs while walking to us.

“And to say I was wondering how to test Match.” He makes a gesture towards the living pod who opens like some noxious flower.

And a clone of Superboy charges us with eyes burning with heat vision.


	24. Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 10

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 10  
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,5,2010, 0.45 AM

Fortunately for all of us, Superboy is the first target of Match’s rampage. Well I doubt he counts himself fortunate for being embroiled with his cousin/brother/clone on the floor in a wrestling match punctuated by bright flashes of heat vision but at least he’s able to take it. After a brief exchange of gazes, Aqualad runs to the two fighters, trying to restrain the raging clone. Kid Flash, Robin and I circle the creature Doctor Desmond became, warily trying to assess his capacities. He doesn’t seem to react to our presence, confident in his own invincibility, waiting for our attacks to break upon his skin.

I have no idea what this mixture has done to him. Vergil assures me the organs of giants give great strength and fortitude and that the Rakshasas are already terrible in their normal form. We surround him completely without exactly planning to. Robin eyes us to coordinate an attack. We give signs of assent and wait for his move. It shouldn’t be long.

Indeed, it doesn’t. Robin jump backwards unleashing a batarang’s volley. The projectiles explode as soon as they come in contact with the black impenetrable skin. Kid Flash runs around Desmond keeping the smoke to evaporate. Then I charge, sword at the ready in a terrible blow. It doesn’t work. The sword strikes with a ringing sound, nearly shaking itself loose from my hands. Unabated we try other blows, other projectiles but to no avail.

“Pathetic.” As I’m the nearest Desmond seizes me by the shoulder before effortlessly sending me into a solid wall, making me kneel in pain. He tries to do that to the two others but Robin dodges the grip, puts weight on the creature’s head then jumps at my side without difficulty. Kid Flash is less lucky and is cast aside like me but he manages to put his feet on the wall and fall without harm.

For a moment I wonder where Dubbilex is in all this but soon I get my answer. The equipment in the lab begin to shake and tear itself loose and rise high in the air. The genomorph is nowhere to be seen, lurking in the shadows I suppose. With a resounding crack, all objects in the room are sent flying to Desmond to no effect. I begin to think it’s hopeless. Seing vials of acid crash into him with no more visible harm than a moment of chirping and smoking, desks and chrome tables break without inflicting damage, makes me doubt we can really restrain him. His voice rises in the storm of debris, mocking and alluring:

“You are wasting your efforts children. I cannot be harm by the powers of men.”

Very specific prohibition here, at least it ties into the myths. Ravana rajah of all Rakshasas was defeated because he forgot to ask to be protected from mankind. If Desmond’s protections are of the same sort, they should be subject to the same interpretations. Man could mean human so we’d need an alien, could mean male so we’d need a heroine. In either case, reaching the surface can only help us. But we must act quickly.

Next to us the three fighters have disentangled themselves. Aqualad bends his muscle as he try to pin Match down while Superboy have his clone’s neck in his elbow. The two are forced to loosen their grip when the clone flashes heat vision at Aqualad, piercing the costume at chest level. Free to concentrate on his remaining adversary, he easily shakes Superboy loose. He stops after that, hesitating between going to us and finishing his opponents off and I take this moment for what is worth.

I accept Odin’s mantle even as it hurts me. The light disappears from one of my eye, making the world fuzzier than usual. I don’t concentrate on the deep cold aching my joints, old age wracking my limbs. The shaft of the spear I unfastened from my back is bright with blazing runes, each representing a kept oath. The winged helm is now a baroque thing more magnificent than any Viking chieftain’s panoply. Two ravens materialize out of thin air before going upwards and phasing through rock and stone.

That gets Desmond attention. Robin almost lacks the time to roll over and dodges the furious charge while I just get my spear in position. The blade only grazes the nightly skin and doesn’t draw blood. Looks like my guess of “immune to male warriors” is correct which means the second part of my gambit is still needed. I remember the street just in front of the building, the shops I saw, how CADMUS appeared as we approached. I try to encompass the six, seven of us as I strike the ground with the spear called Gugnir and we are all, friend and foe alike, transported elsewhere with rainbow light and the sound of eight legs stomping.

It’s a partial success. We are not outside CADMUS but in the central lobby, so mostly right where I wanted to bring us. Dubbilex is absent, perhaps because he was standing too far. Match and Superboy are disconcerted by the sight of the night’s sky peering through the windows but they soon return to try to maim each other. Aqualad, not blinded by fury like them, try to goad Match towards the walls. Trying to make the building crumble? Not a bad idea. I scream to the others: “If you have a plan, do it now! I hold that thing back!” Desmond laughs at my presumption but my comrades disperse in good order. Just two things to do now. Just two things…

Desmond charges me, trying to send me back into another wall, but this time I’m ready. I escape his grip, still grazing him. While it doesn’t seem to hurt him, he doesn’t seem to find the experience a good one, so he comes after me again and again and again until he drags me by the throat and pulls me from the ground. I still manage to whisper through my choked throat.

“I’m of the blood of Ymir, the blood of giants.” Desmond is forced to release me as I begin to grow in size and bulk to become more like him.

We wrestle with each other. Neither of us is trained in unharmed combat so we don’t manage to hurt ourselves very much. Still I can keep him off balance until the others enact their plans. We try to strangle each other; we try to punch each other before realizing it has no effect. My one eye deep into his red ones, we try to tear each other limb from limb to no avail, rolling and turning like a pair of disgruntled lovers on the cold floor.

An explosion resounds, then another, then another. Robin’s work take care of half the pillars of the room while Aqualad goads the two Superman’s clones to turn their attention to the rest. Someone, Kid Flash I believe cry to me to get out and with a smile and simple visualization of Raidho the rune of the chariot, I let the former doctor be buried on a pile of rocks.

He’s not harmed of course, but still not being harmed will not keep him from needing some time to emerge from the rubble. Some time I can use to concentrate on the ravens. A brief look through the eyes of Hugin and Munim indicates they have found their targets. They are on their way. Now, to deal with Match.

The clone is not fazed by the defeat of his creator. Indeed, he has become even more furious, punctuating his strikes with the red light of lasers. While Superboy is the main target of his ire and he even ignores Aqualad who was fighting him for the last hour or so, he still tries to fry us as soon as his counterpart is busy rising up from a blow.

Lucky for us, the cavalry is coming. We need to just last a little more time. Perhaps we can even best him. We surround him from all sides. My blade or Aqualad water-bearers are able to wound him but I don’t want to kill him just yet. Still I charge him, easing Superboy’s burden and manage to pierce his shoulder with a thrust of the spear.

Hearing Superman’s younger voice screaming in pain is not a beautiful sound but that’s the touch of heat vision that makes me regret my action. When I was training with Superman he deliberately limited himself to low-intensity blast. They stung but these ones burn my flesh. Even Odin’s formidable stamina is not able to keep me from recoiling in pain, without even tearing Gugnir from my opponent’s elbow. Lucky for me Aqualad is the next to land a blow, electrifying his water-bearers and forcing Match to his knees. What are the others doing? I have my answer when I hear Robin’s voice

“Dante, Aqualad, Superboy! Cover your ears!”

I cover them but that doesn’t make the experience any less painful. The batarang Robin launches emits a high-pitched sound, nearly at the limit of human hearing. I grit my teeth as the ringing drills in my head but the clones fare much worse. Match is yelping like a dog near a particularly painful doorbell and after a few moment falls unconscious on the ground. Superboy is less affected but still I can see a trickle of blood falling down his lips where he bit too hard to not scream.

Well! We defeated a mutant and a Kryptonian clone without having the League to help us. That’s a success beyond my wildest expectations even if I suspect the others would tell this is totally normal, then boast than no foe could possibly be beyond them. Still simply recounting all the moments we could have died in there gives me the shudders.

We turn from Match to look at the sky and see Superman descending from the heavens. With every other members of the Justice League. Those who can’t fly float on green platforms held by one of the Green Lantern. I see a look of relief in my comrades’ mentors’ eyes but still they manage to look stern while putting their feet on the ground. That strikes me as a little exaggerated. I mean we only destroyed one building and most of it is underground!

Superman catches Superboy and Match on the floor and his expression shift from stern to… What is that? Disgust? Disappointment? Surprise? Fear? A mélange of all these feelings, none of them good. He nearly recoils when Superboy looks at him right in the eyes. The rest of the League seems to hesitate on who will talk first. I decide to relieve them from that burden.

‘Sirs.” I say to them while pointing to the rubble pile that was CADMUS. “We have a perhaps still conscious enemy under there. Nothing we did to him seemed to slow him down so I think he simply lacks the space to move.”

With the speed given by long habit, Wonder Woman and a score of Leaguers position themselves to watch the rubble and begin to discuss the best way to contain the former doctor. I don’t know how things will end but at least I think I delayed our dressing down until morning.


	25. Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 11

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 11  
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,6,2010, 11:45 AM

The clones’ bodies twist and shake as we lay our hands before them. They try to scream, once more, but after four hours of procedure their voices are raw and hoarse, reduced to frightened whispers. Neither I or my colleague on this operation relish their pain but it is unfortunately a necessity. Nothing I can do without mantling Nephthys can put them to sleep and they prove resistant to Martian Manhunter’s probes and injunctions to rest. So they remain conscious while we sift through their minds and body like a gold digger sifts through sand and mud.

I don’t envy the Manhunter’s task. Even if he agreed to let us probe his mind, Superboy’s psyche fights him by instinct, forcing him to be extremely subtle and invasive in his attempts to parse what exactly CADMUS imparted to their weapon. Match resists him even more, threatening to overcome him with raw emotion and pure concentrated violence. My own task is double. Officially I must ascertain their clones’ physiologies, at least before Star Labs takes the relay for Match. In practice I have to maintain them as immobile as possible, a task only made possible by Nephthys’ powers on disease. My spells bind them to their medical beds but it’s the vicious sickness I conjured in their bones that keeps them from raging too much.

Nevertheless, we advance slowly but surely, discovering one by one the traps laid for them in their brains and flesh. Superboy is not a full-Kryptonian clone, parts of his body are human and others are coming from unknown sources. I don’t know exactly why CADMUS did this but seeing Match’s berserker tendencies I’m willing to charge difficulties in creating a fully-functional brain. Still a hybrid should normally be far more difficult to create than a pure-breed. I can see no flaws in his altered organism but Martian Manhunter is digging and destroying a wealth of hidden controls: Susceptibility to mind-control, seventeen command words ranging from power suppression to cold calculated efficient murder of possible teammates. The list is long and growing by the hour. It’s enough to make me consider to bind Superboy with sanctified oaths and geassa before allowing him out of here

Match is even more difficult. Not only his conditioning is only martial in nature. (Why? Did they scrape the project when it was obvious he was rabid? Or did they create him only to kill and not replace Superman as Superboy was obviously meant to be?) His mind is void of everything nor related to warfare and consummate hatred for Superman. Manhunter wishes to continue probing, to see if there is something we can bring to the surface. I argue we should put him off his misery or build his mind from scratch.

Everything would be easier if Superman had deigned take a stance on the issues or even allowed us the use of the Kryptonian databanks of the Fortress of Solitude but no. I understand he wants nothing to do with clones grown of DNA stolen from him but the whole thing begins to piss me off. If one of them is grievously wounded, they will be out of the reach of even my mantling a god of health. The only recourse would be CADMUS or directly requesting audience with one of the powers of healing in the world.

I sigh in relief when Manhunter signals the end of the procedure for the day and I’m free to dispel what bindings I held Superboy’s in. Match I leave bound by sorcery and disease, too weak to rise from his bed, too weak to do anything but simmer. Would the League permit me to put him in a coma but they judge that unethical as long as there is hope Match reveals itself to be a person and not a weapon.

Barring a breakthrough, we will surely be at the same point until the end of the week.

I’m still grimacing while I help Superboy (he really needs another name) to rise, achieving to purge his organism of all I put in there. He’s still wincing in pain but he’s happy. He began to be that way when we discovered the first command word and burned it from his mind. Now while he still dislikes the intense pain, he will bear it as long as he’s not sure his mind is not completely his own.

Time for a quick change of clothes and we’re off to the cafeteria. I admit I was somewhat surprised the League will make no attempt to hide Superboy’s existence from the world. His nature will remain secret, of course, but he’s not confined to League’s facilities. Good, that would have been a terribly misguided thing to do. And at least he can socialize with his fellow young heroes.

I repress a grin. At this time nothing is confirmed, but Wonder Woman has more or less confirmed to me the four of them will indeed constitute a team of heroes. They are still discussing what this team will do, how it will be operated, from where and all these logistics questions, but they will get their wish. As for me? Well, the League thinks I managed a good job in keeping them alive and well and they are ready to let me a bit of free time to accomplish the will of the gods. Like the future of the team, the range of what I can do to foster worship in the old pantheon is up to debate. However, as long as I don’t force anyone and I respect American law on preaching that should not be a problem. I must hit the books on this peculiar issue but from what I remember they are rather lenient on religion here even if they seem a little bit less crazy about that than in my home parallel. I have several ideas already on how to use my powers in non-combative ways and bring a suitable flock to my masters.

As we join the others, already hogging a table in full costume and seemingly oblivious to the attention they receive, I amuse myself by comparing their lunches. What a person eats can tell you so many things on their personality: Aqualad seems to be the most balanced of the trio: rice, fish, greens and water. Robin is happily gulping on fries and meat with nary a vegetable in sight. And Kid Flash. Well seeing him eat I wonder if he’s bulimic. I didn’t see him long enough to watch if he makes himself vomit after eating. Still I don’t see any reasonable way to explain the quantities he ingests. It’s not even bad or fat food, he’s currently putting beans in his mouth at remarkable speed. He’s so quick I’m amazed his costume remains clean. Superboy is apparently anxious to taste anything which is not nutrient paste and helps himself to the day’s pasta then go to sit with them.

I’m rather relieved to see them getting along so easily. Sure Superboy is far from having a “normal” personality and joke with them but it’s certainly better than I would have thought. Kaldur, Dick and Wallace are going out of their way to make him feel welcome, to show him the world. I’m also be doing that but I suspect with a somewhat different outlook.

It’s funny, I think as I take my order (lamb, fries and green with a glass of red) and go sit at their side. Realistically they are not so much younger than me. Ok this is a lie. Robin is a child, Wallace is not far off and Kaldur while remarkably mature for sixteen is still a teen to me. Nevertheless, they make me feel old from my twenty-five years’ point of view. They, at least the central trio, consider themselves brothers, I would consider them children.

I’ll make a point to visit their team when I’m able. They need someone outside their age group but not so old they would associate them with their mentors. Still I wonder if I’ll have the time to visit them often.

Well life is full of surprises, isn’t it.


	26. Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 12

Episode 2: Dragon’s Teeth: Part 12  
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,6,2010, 1:00 PM

“So how are you going to do it?”

Strange how these things work. The meal was excellent even if the wine was kind of shitty but that’s par the course. Kaldur did everything he could to make Superboy welcome, with much better results than Kid Flash and Robin exuberance. As talking about anything at CADMUS was out of the question in public the subject came of my obligations to the gods. I grinned all along. Wally, Kid Flash, is apparently not believing the source of my powers is magical nor that I have duties to the powers above. I can commiserate. After all I was an avowed atheist back home but since my arrival here I had to face the fact. Gods, and magic and science none thought possible are real and disbelieving it will not make it go away.

Still hearing Wally frantic explanations of “energy-to-matter transmutation” to explain my changes of costume and “psychic powers using ritual words as focus” to explain all the runecasting I did while we tangled with CADMUS’ guards, is good for a laugh.

I insisted they accompany me on my errand to show them how I will spend my days after our roads will part. Seeing as they had nothing to do this afternoon they accepted to quickly change and walk the streets with me. None of us are in costume for several reasons, the most important one being I have no desire to associate the young heroes’ names to a pagan revival. As full of preconceptions on America as I am, I don’t believe I’m too far off in foreseeing a massive shitstorm when people will begin to pray to the old pantheons. No need to have the team pegged as pagan so soon in their careers.

So here we are, walking Downtown Washington in the heat of July with Kid Flash asking me how I do plan to convert people. Well, not only not all of my patrons requires worship, (Nephthys totally wants it though, a matter of being nearly forgotten by the world while her sister, brothers and son acceded to the heights of human imagination), but finding potential devotees is not that difficult. Cults do it all the time and unlike them, I can give to people nearly anything they can ask. At a price generally but nothing in this world is really free. Well I can’t quite resist the opportunity to lecture, can’t I?

“Religion is all about fulfilling a need Wally. There is something in man who reach to the invisible, who thinks there are powers organizing the movement of the worlds. Generally, more hectic your life, the more you crave some meaning, some order in the universe. Comfort the poor, bewilder the great and you have a new religion already in the making. How am I going to do it? I’m simply going to do the same thing Jesus did, and they called him a god pretty quick.”

My comrades’ relative lack of reactions is not what I expected. Even the mildest Christian would have screamed blasphemy by now, if only because I plan to usurp the role. Still I don’t see why I’m so surprised. Kid Flash seems to be a Dawkins-style sceptic with fortunately a little less vitriol. Aqualad has his own religion who seems to be a hodge-podge of every water divinity existing. Superboy was not implanted with a religion but he seems to know about festivals and the like. Robin is the only one who could have been religious but apparently no.

Even in July it’s not difficult to find some homeless if you leave the main streets a bit. While Washington seems not as bad as Gotham and only have the normal American rate of crippling poverty, you find your share of desperate people. I neglect to mouth to my comrades the first group we met is begging at what, two or three streets from the Hall of Justice. I doubt they would appreciate the irony like I do.

Three of them, all men in their fourties, I dismiss. Not for lack of pity but their fall from the American Dream must be recent for they bear few marks of disease or ailment. Sure they are malnourished with rashes on their skin, bleeding gums and breaths reeking of cheap alcohol but they are easily fixable. No missing limbs, no deep painful condition. I will heal them of course but they would not take that for a divine intervention, just a cleaning up.

The fourth, a black man in perhaps his sixties is in a worse state. His bald head is covered in white rashes who remind me of leprosy even if I know it can’t be that. His eyes appear cloudy, the pupil seeming like a patch of mist at the center. I don’t think he can see me as I approach, my comrades observing from a small distance. When I spoke of Jesus I didn’t mean to be so literal but you don’t insult the gods by refusing their gifts.

“Eh youn’ man. Got any money?” Well he can apparently still hear. His companions are visibly too stoned, on minor things for what I can identify at first glance but he’s still sober.

“I’ve some, but I have something better to give you. How are you seeing things old man?”

“Most days I can’t see a damn thing. Eyes of mine begun to not work five years ago and things haven’t got any better.”

“I can give you your eyes back. If you want them back of course.”

“Sure thing. Let me call my banker and you’ll get a right shower of cash for your troubles. I can’t pay for anything, young man, nor can I pass under the knife of some psycho. You know, you’ll fix my eyes then piss off with my liver or anything else.”

Unfortunately, even in my parallel he would be right to be wary, of course much less than here but still. I take my most comforting tone but I was never great a soothing people.

“There will be no knife. That will take just a moment. But you must accept”

“Well, things are not gonna be any worse for me? It’s not like I’ll be living off the street hey.” His laugh sounds like a cough. I’ll give it a look when I have fixed his eyes.

I simply concentrate on the power of Nephthys who is healing while spitting on my hands. The old man recoils a little when he feels my wet hands on his eyes but still go with the procedure. Only a last thing to do to seal the deal.

“I ask but one thing for this. You’ll remember the name Nephthys and say to all people like you Nephthys helped you, that Nephthys healed you.”

“Nephthys? Is that one these queer saints? Are you a churchman?” I chuckle a little.

“Something like that. Now you’ll do this?”

“Yes I’ll do it. On my folk’s bones, I’ll do it”.

I smile as I send the surge of energy down my hands and into his flesh, reknitting and repairing, making him haler he was in years, healthier than most men his age. Rashes recede, minor scars disappear, skin recovers its luster. I can’t fill his belly but that problem is easily solved by some of the stipend the League gave me. I tell him in a loud voice.

“Then open your eyes and see. The old gods have made you whole again”

When he wipes his eyes and open him his pupils have regained a normal color, black on grey and he gazes in wonder. I quickly swipe him some cash, enough for a meal or two with a stern warning to not use it on anything else and remember the name. After that, purging the three stoners is hardly anything to write about even if it obviously cements my status as a miracle worker.

My comrades look bewildered. Except Superboy of course who has already tasted my powers over health and disease. Robin in particular seems officially whelmed. Is he considering the possibilities for Batman and he if they got injured? Does he think I could have saved his parents if I were on the scene this night some years ago? Kid Flash is oscillating between the skeptic persona and the normal “Oh my God, you cured a blind person” stage. As for Aqualad, who knows what is he thinking. He seems to be considering the practical applications. I creep near Kid Flash and launches.

“So that’s how I’m doing it and will continue to do it. When channeling a god of health, I can heal somewhat ten people in this state by day.” Not good enough in my mind but still useful as long as I don’t enhance my channeling capacities. Still I should find other groups to fill my day’s quota.

The buzz of the temporary communicator the League gave me nearly make me jump in surprise. What do they want? I doubt it’s an emergency for my comrades’ own devices are silent. I pick it up, put it to my ear and quickly answers.

“Dante’s in” The voice picking up is Wonder Woman’s

“Raphael. Could you go back to the Hall please. We have reached a consensus on the Team” And that concerns me how exactly? I quickly babbles I and the other will go back immediately but Diana continues.

“I’m saying it to you now to not have you surprised at the meeting but we have decided the team will operate under the League’s aegis, and you will serve as liaison between the two groups. If you are willing of course.”

Wait. What now?


	27. Interlude: Caretaker

Interlude: Caretaker

HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C  
JULY,6,2010, 3:00 PM  
Even if he had a long habit of seeing his plans derailed by unforeseen complications, Bruce Wayne, called Batman in more professional occasions, hated it when a situation spiraled into chaos. And the sidekick’s matter was definitively heading this way. Things should have been easy. The sidekicks would have visited the Hall, marveled at the League’s facilities and went home awaiting to be ready to induction in the League. Ollie had decided to tell his brat (Bruce eagerly prayed Dick would have a more amiable adolescence than the red-haired archer) about the Watchtower and spoiled everyone’s mood. Dante, the newcomer had proposed to accompany the kids on a normal mission. Said mission ended out uncovering CADMUS cloning projects and put two more complications in the League’s path.

Bruce sighed. He didn’t like to deem the Superboy and Match complications. They were thinking beings, even if Match’s thinking had been artificially limited. He understood Clark’s hesitation to care for the boys even if he didn’t share it. He knew what he would do if Selina or Talia appeared at the gates of Wayne Manor with a black-haired boy obviously his child. Hell, he knew what he would have done if he had gone in the depths of CADMUS and seen his own face peering at him from a birthing vat. He would have been disconcerted, wrathful at the violation of his being. He would not have begrudged the children, victims as he was a victim for things they had no control about. He would have tried to care for them even if the Joker or another of his Rogues had created to them.

However, he was a father in heart and deed. Clark was not and Bruce suspected it had a certain influence on his appraisal of the situation. What would have become of him if he hadn’t adopted Dick into his family? Adopting the boy had been one of the best decisions of his life if not the well thought-off. Who cared? There are decisions, rare as they may be, whcih must be taken in the moment, even in the very throes of emotion. Dick has been difficult at times, was still difficult at times but on the whole he had filled with laughter and light a life which would have been consumed by duty.

His role as the Batman, that was duty, joyful freely-chosen duty but duty nonetheless. A debt paid to the city where he was born, the parents who had tried to improve it, the children who would inherit it, even to the boy who had seen his parents’ corpses hit the floor for no higher reason than a pearl necklace. He loved his role, didn’t deny the rush of adrenaline in the confrontation with a deranged criminal, the slow thrill of uncovering clues and piecing together a solution. There was a reason why, despite their differences in character, he was closest to Barry Allen than any other members of the League. Detective work was a passion.

Caring for Dick was a pleasure.

No the clones were no complication but Dante sitting at the end of the table, slightly cowering beneath the gazes of he, Diana, Orin, Barry and Dinah was one. Bruce appraised the young man. It was a little strange to consider his total inexperience considering that Bruce himself was not older than Dante by ten years. Still there was something boyish in the awkward manner the young man was standing, in his unshaved beard and his movements in the chair. Minor attention disorder he had explained at his arrival, still to see him twitch and shift on his chair as he feared the people arrayed in front of him. Well according to him, he feared them and would fear them for a long time. That was of no import. Batman was accustomed to dealing with people slightly or not so slightly frightened by his presence.

“I understand why you want me to do it. But I doubt I’m cut for it.”

Another thing that should have been simple. CADMUS had revealed the League’s grave deficiency when it came to gather reliable intel. They had missed an entire artificial race and Kryptonian’s clones. The former sidekicks would be a great team for covert ops and intelligence gathering. He had found them headquarters, convinced fellow Leaguers to serve with him as trainers for the team. Dante would fit right here. He was younger than any League’s member of note but still an adult and could provide assistance and counsel to the teenagers more vivid and useful than Red Tornado’s could. While the team could hesitate to go to their former mentors for advice or help in their everyday’ life, perhaps they would trust someone bound to them mor.

Slight problems, Dante didn’t want the job at all. Not because he disliked the Team but he was not confident in his skill as a teacher/caretaker. Bruce was slightly angered because it was evident the young man would eventually accept their proposal, once the first moments of disbelief would have faded. Still that took time, time Batman was not eager to lose while investigations could be made.

Diana and Barry took turns to reassure the young hero he would simply act as “big brother substitute” while Red Tornado would be the main caretaker of the sidekicks. That elicited a reaction as Dante seemed to think the old robot as not the most adequate caretaker ever for a group of emotional youngsters. Bruce knew the android had asked for the job to learn more about humanity. Another task a more stable adult could help.

Yet after about an hour of conversation, Raphael accepted the job after strictly defining his own freedoms and responsibilities. Not anything out of line. Just the usual freedom to range outside of the base at night and pursue his own duties to the gods. Still there was a new complication to arise. The young hero detailed what he would need to do his job. A sentence nearly froze Bruce’s heart in thinking the storm it could cause.

“And of course as Superboy will be in our charge, we will need enough medical data to help him if he’s wounded. And I will have questions to ask Superman about his youth and Krypton.”

With any luck Clark would have calmed before Dante asked deeply personal questions or anything but Bruce was accustomed to bad timing and the Kryptonian had really taken the existence of the clones as a problem.

He had a bad feeling about this.


	28. Interlude: Reading

Interlude: Reading  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
July, 8, 2010, 11:00 AM

M’gann was not sure she had calmed yet and that bothered her. Sure she understood the trials she had passed would have taken their toll on even her uncle, who had been nice enough to not bring her back to Mars when he spotted her cowering in his ship’s hold. Still she wanted, like him, to rejoin the Earth mightiest heroes, to see the world J’onn had so often spoken about, to see her idol and model in the flesh. She could not do all these things if she didn’t calm herself and cease to be flustered each and every five minutes. Still she couldn’t get pass the fact her project worked. She was on Earth, ready to begin a new life for herself.

She twitched on her chair. She didn’t know what to do with the proposal of a “game” by the eldest of the group. Strange how the rest of the team were clearly of the same age group as her while Dante appeared to be much older and having more in common with Black Canary than them. Still he had guided her through the rooms, showing her all facilities and her quarters after her introduction to the team. She didn’t quite understand why he had taken Kid Flash in a shadowy corner after the speedster had greeted her with “enthusiasm” but supposed it was an Earth’s thing. She still couldn’t remember hearing about an earthen custom involving dragging one’s comrades by the ear though.

Still Dante had gathered them all here, “seeing as they were the full team for any foreseeable time” and proposed to read them the future after they discussed with one another. Three of the heroes she knew from her time watching Earth medias and since her arrival in June where she had served under her uncle she had kept herself abroad of the superhero community. Kid Flash, Robin and Aqualad were quite famous in some circles and she was anxious to fight at their sides. The Superboy, she didn’t know and her uncle had not given her a lot of details. He was the most physically imposing member of the team and showed an ambiguous reaction to all psychic contacts. As for the last…

Dante had something about him, perhaps in his psychic presence which had made M’gann mumble a prayer to H'ronmeer god of death, fire and inspiration. After he had explained his powers, she had identified him as having a role like of the fire priests back home who kept watch on the ancient pyramids and prepared the deceased. Not the happiest role to have but a necessary one. Still she had instinctively twisted her fingers in the required gestures of respect and warding.

Yet there had been no morbidity in his gestures or attitude. On the contrary he had done all he could to assure her there would be no problems. From what she understood she, Superboy, he and Red Tornado would live in this “Mount Justice” full time, repurposing the old League’s HQ for a younger team. Uncle J’onn had adjured her to trust both the android and the young ma, arguing they were the last people to have preconceptions about the different kinds of Martians. Still she preferred keeping her human appearance, not to fool anyone. Who would be idiotic enough to look at her uncle and her and conclude it was totally normal to have one look barely humanoid and the other to be a “green skinned babe” like this internet site had called the type?

They were all around the table, even Red Tornado and Black Canary had stayed to observe, the android with something approaching curiosity and the heroine with open amusement at the idea. She had even insisted, in the fashion of those who don’t believe but think the whole process interesting or hilarious, that her and her colleague received a reading too. M’gann didn’t know much about the traditions of Earth so she had not been surprised by Dante’s pulling a deck of cards and beginning to shuffle them, more than by anything else.

“First to the lady in our gathering” said Dante drawing a card and showing it to Black Canary “The Third Arcanum the Empress, Woman in Majesty, it means endless creativity, flowering of the mind. A strong independent person who is the brain in the relationship she currently has and possessing a distinct link with birds. Can also means a tired mother. How did you survive living with Speedy for so long before he crashed out anyway?”

Black Canary laughed a little then answered: “He was much less annoying with me than with Ollie, that’s for sure. He would have ended deaf a long time ago if he hadn’t.”

Dante smiled before turning to the android and drawing another card: “Our eldest gets the Tenth Arcanum, the Wheel of Fortune. Cycles begin, cycles end. You begin your life on one form and you end it as another. It’s not surprising someone as focused as you on becoming more than what you are now would be represented by this Arcanum. Beware though, changing too quickly can make you regret what you had.” Red Tornado appraised the prophecy with a mechanical sigh, mumbling it was “illogical”

“For the youngest” he turned then to Robin “The Sixth Arcanum, the Lover, Choices and Consequences. Normally this card indicates someone torn between two paths, two options and urges to choose one of them, whichever of them, for choosing is always better than to deny a choice must be made. Of course it could also mean you’ll quickly become the local heartbreaker.” Did M’gann hear correctly or was Kid Flash mumbling about “why he’s always the lucky one.” Had to be her imagination.

“Superboy’s Strength, the Eleventh Arcanum. Not really surprising. The woman taming the lion shows the necessity of self-mastery and warns us true strength comes from the mind and not the flesh. Still it remains one of the most energetic cards of the deck and signals power beyond one’s knowledge. The woman and the lion can also represent a marriage of the contrary whether inside you or one you’ll realize with someone else.”

His eyes met Kid Flash and he drew while smiling: “Kid get the First and Last Arcanum, The Fool” Robin held back, very badly a fit of laughter while the speedster looked at him with angry eyes. “A card of relentless activity, the Fool is not held in place by anything or anyone, moves at his own rhythm. In some versions of the cards he walks to an abyss but not in this oldest one. It’s also a card of endurance in face of despair and great odds.”

He turned then to Aqualad and her before deciding to show her the last card. “Aqualad get the Fourth Arcanum, The Emperor, the Leader, the Emperor is master of the material world and a ruler on his part of the cosmos. He represents the mastery of the elements, no nonsense spirit but he bears also some vulnerabilities to imagination, love and other feelings. Strangely enough while he’s a card of truth his mirror among the Major Arcana is a card of illusion.”

He drew the final card and laughed a bit before showing M’gann the image of two buildings, two wolves, a pool and the moon above it. “Our latest arrival is represented by the Eighteenth Arcanum, the Moon or the Depths of the Unconscious. The Moon who mirrors the Emperor is associated with dreams, the mind and transformations. She is the mistress of masks and the oracle of what cannot be understood by the rational spirit. Unfortunately, she is also lacks the structure of rational thought and is driven by feelings”

M’gann didn’t know how to take the characterization but was not overly surprised when she picked a stray thought from Dante. It was the image of a family of green-skinned being with elongated skulls and thin limbs, inhuman in their proportions. Another images followed and was roughly what uncle J’onn would have looked if he were Aunt Joa”nn. Going through the images was a thought M’gann didn’t know if it were a solitary reflection or a telepathic message waiting to get picked up.

“The Moon is also mistress of lies and secrets and illusions. The Arcanum of the scene and the masks. In her depths are found few precious truths for many illusions dissipating in the morning.”

And with that M’gann M’orzz of Mars thought she had a slight problem on her hands.


	29. Episode 3: First Arms

Episode 3: First Arms  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
July, 10, 2010, 4:00 AM

There’s few things more infuriating than insomnia and for me it’s been a long companion. You learn to live with it, you learn to live with all sorts of things but still it’s quite painful, especially in a line of work where you can never tell when you will be called the next day, or if you will be called. Still nothing to do. I look at the alarm clock to see I got four hours of sleep. Not exceptional but not bad by my standards. 4 o’clock means an exhaustion attack at 12 or 13’. Manageable if not perfect. I drag myself out of bed. Time to be prepared for the days.

The room I took is comfortable without being luxurious. I managed to obtain a computer and even if I’m aware all my browser’ history is monitored it made my life easier. Some books borrowed from the Hall of Justice fill a rank of shelves, mostly what rare books and reports on Atlantis I managed to find. With Red’ Tornado’s permission I hollowed one of the wall with a multitude of alcoves, each containing an idol of one of my patrons. Arranging them gave me a headache while I argued with Vergil on which god would be at the center of the arrangement. I had no desire to tempt the wrath of the deities by seeming to favor one above the others. Still I’m happy with what I settled for.

At the center Shiva and Kali, member of the trinity who maintains the cosmos and keeper of the Shakti who fills the world look at me from their tight embrace. Around them in a first circle are these gods who are considered great rulers of the universe: Mot and Hades acknowledged as kings of a fourth of creation, Nergal and Ereshkigal feared even by their pantheons., Odin, Indra and Huitzilopochtli who are kings among their peers. Around them are the others, no less important, no less respected but still not greeted as kings and potentates able to challenge the will of their peers. Like I did yesterday and I will do each day I’ll be waking in this room, I advance to their images, kneel and offer thanks and obeisance. Near the statue of the Hummingbird of the Left I take a knife. The pain that courses through my nerves as I slice my palm open finishes waking me up as I anoint the statue of those gods of South America needing the blood of mortals with my own while thanking them for their service to the universe.

Then to take some clothes, a quick shower and the day can begin in earnest. I am still a bit awkward with getting my wardrobe filled up by Batman’s money but Superboy and Miss Martian are in the same case. Well Superboy is. M’gann’s clothes are organic and shift shape as she does which saves a lot in expenses. As for Superboy…

It will be a long time before he renounces the S shield on all his clothes but if by the end of our next meeting Superman decides to still hold back Krypton's informations I asked I will do my possible for him to identify as an Earthling and take a new role model. I wonder if the Hummingbird of the Left patron of warriors and the sun would accept him as a new supplicant. If the human sacrifice’s thing is non-negotiable, Nergal is more malevolent a divinity with his association with plague but he won’t ask for human victims.

But I’m rambling, shower, clothes then to breakfast. I’m not surprised to see Red Tornado in the kitchen. He seems to wait for the first of us to wake up. I don’t think he needs to sleep but that runs against all I know of minds and basic psychology. All living things needs to rest; the mind needs to sleep sometimes to not be driven to insanity. I think the android in the comics took some naps spanning months or years where he was like dead. I don’t know if this version does that and I’ve no intention to intrude as he seems to hate being reminded of the more inhuman aspect of his state.

Well if only it was just the lack of sleep. His whole existence makes very little sense to me. He’s a fully functional AI in an element-manipulating body at that. And he was created in the 40’s. Yet he’s the only example on Earth of such technology. I understand Dr. Morrow was Leonardo reborn but still, some people should have managed to make other prototypes if not fully integrated robots. That didn’t bug me when I was reading comics because I knew the Doylist reason: to have a world still recognizable by modern readers but still it’s strange when you experience it in person.

I greet him with little enthusiasm. Even after the pain of cutting my palm and the shower I’m still in a bit of a haze up until I fell the bitter tang of tea down my throat. Then I’m much better. During all the process Red Tornado seems to eye me with interest or fascination as if the simple fact of eating and drinking was a mystery to him. Must be just an impression, he had more than sixty years to accustom himself to the things flesh and blood demand.

“What are you planning to do today?”

Always the same question. Don’t know if it’s the robotic voice but even after only two days I have the feeling he will always ask me the same question each and every morning. Still I understand as the “den mother” of the team he is interested by what I’ll do with Superboy and Miss Martian. So I answer without problems.

“I’ll stay this morning to work in the greenhouses.” Food should not be a problem but after seeing what Robin and Kid Flash bought for dinner these last two days and their complete lack of concern with it I decided to take care that fruits and vegetables were at least available at all times. It’s also a good occasion to train with the Fertility aspect most of my patron master. While it has almost no combative capacity I think it will gain the gods many converts. It is my capacity even when I’m not mantling them completely to guarantee fruitful crops untouched by disease or insects, and the way to a man’s heart is often in their stomachs. The second part of my day is a little more controversial;

“I’ll be absent this noon. I’ll have lunch with Superman and ask some questions that must be answered now..”


	30. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 2

Episode 3: First Arms : Part 2  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JULY,8, 2010 6:00 AM

 

I’m a bit surprised the League had installed greenhouses in their base when they use it. I mean I’m not one to complain about a touch of greenery bringing a bit of light in an otherwise dank cave, but I don’t quite understand the impetus that led to the creation of one full-sized room transformed into a garden. I wouldn’t peg any of the seven founders of the League as a gardener even if the thought of Hal Jordan merrily whistling while tending to his geraniums is a funny one. I’m sure it was not installed yesterday for I helped dispose of the old withered plants and other garbage accumulated in years of disuse. I much prefer my current work to that one.

After the place was cleaned up I decided with the full approval of Black Canary to use the greenhouses for food rather than decorations. Truth to be told it was part of my plan to test the full limits of my powers over growth before using them in public. I can’t reasonably try to bless crops and end up cursing them by mistake, can I? Adding some green to my comrades’ plates is an added bonus. I don’t think they will complain though so long I’m the one to work the garden. I’m fully intent to find an alternative solution though.

“Tell me again why you are such a race of slackers. Gods if the lesser immortals were like you I don’t want to imagine the dreadful state of Olympus.”

And a good day to you too Vergil. I’m fully aware of my inherent laziness who pushed me from doing so many things in my parallel. Here my projects are not lazy but time-efficient. I have access to the powers of nature so it’s normal to use them to lighten my load and concentrate on more important things. Such as trying to make Miss Martian and Superboy kill each other over her use of telepathy. I already stringently explained to the clone mind-communication was not mind control. I have no intention to rein her use of telepathy. If she’s too afraid to hurt people’s feeling to sense our enemies during a mission, she’ll be useless at her role.

I smile at this thought. While the three sidekicks are out doing heroics with their respective mentors I elaborated a roster I think will be acceptable to them. Well the most important is it is acceptable to my two fellow caretakers. I’m sure most of them with the exception of Aqualad and Robin will be surprised at concepts such as “defined roles” but they will adapt. Aqualad as the most experienced and the only with experience with squads will be our team leader, Robin and Miss Martian will run recon and information gathering, Superboy and I are the heavy weights of the group while Kid Flash can play double as our speedster and science expert. All in all, a balanced team.

I’m preparing to do my work. I’m just hesitating as to the god to summon, a recurrent problem seeing as I have so many at my disposal. I considered summoning them according to a set-up list but quickly dismissed the notion as impractical. Considering surprises attacks and the like, summoning according to my needs will be more efficient, I think. The small problem I have today is my coming confrontations with Superman. While he has accepted to meet me and discuss I have a bad feeling the situation will come to a conflict. In that case I was always a firm believer in Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war. So no god having just a link with fertility and death.

The choice is thus between Zam of the Yazatas who rules Earth, Morena of the Slavs who rules Frost and Osiris who wields the powers of Justice. Neither of them are particularly awesome choices. Superman can fly so I doubt earth powers would be of any uses, despite how immoral I find it I doubt his treatment of Match and Superboy breaks any laws even if he refuses me. While Morena lady of winter can seem a good choice, I’m not sure what good could be ice in the heat of July. And of course I forgot lady Freya who is a sorceress and would enable me to level the playing field. Tough choice.

“Good Morning. Red Tornado told me I’d find you here.”

“Great, the Liar is here.” Shut up Vergil while I’m not comfortable with her shapeshifting and her “normal” appearance is obviously fake; I see no need to be antagonistic to M’gann. Even if Martian Manhunter represents the default of this continuity’s Martians (and I would be confident in betting his appearance is also a mask) a female version could be uncomfortable for a young teenager wanting to see another world. I’m more disturbed by the obvious desire Kid Flash express for a what is in reality a clever mask. But that’s a problem I’ll have to solve with him before than with her.

I turn to greet her as it’s polite and I’m not surprised to find her unchanged. I marked in my planning a moment for the very uncomfortable conversation about shapeshifting and its implications, at least before she enrolls in high school as seems to be the League’s desire for Superboy and her. Even discounting the moral implications on her being heavily disguised in an environment where pursuing romance is normal, there’s the problems with her form. She hasn’t gotten the knack to simulate fatigue like humans do. The eyes blink too rarely; some moves are awkward… Most people won’t consciously dwell on it but the mind can register and instill unconscious dislike and suspicion. Still I smile and address her.

“Still not accustomed to earth’ cycles?” She acquiesces. While her sleep is better than mine, she confided she still missed the cycles of Mars and tended to follow them. She was much worse when she first arrived on the planet last month but still has odd hours. Superboy is the only one of our trio to sleep soundly from midnight to eight o’clock even if he longs still for the sensation of the vat he was grown in.

M’gann actually visited the greenhouses as soon as I set them in workable shape anew. She’s fascinated with all things of Earth and was a tad disappointed to see only soil and seeds and a few bought plants. If there’s a thing Vergil says on the power of growth is the grow-a-tree-by-throwing-an-acorn-on-the-ground power is far beyond my non-mantled skill. Still what I’m doing should be a good distraction for her, especially the second part. I have decided on a god I had also forgotten and begin the chanting:

“Master of the Rain. Lord of the Third Sun. Lord of Thunder who destroyed his own kingdom. Earth hungry for blood. Eater of Children I beseech you. Tlaloc who bring those who drown and those who are struck by the arrows of the sky to his side in paradise, I call on you. Give me the strength to sustain the universe as you did. Tlaloc Rain-Maker I invoke your name and your power!”

My clothes are covered by. Well I’d call it ridiculous but blaspheming against the gods is not a sane proposition. The vestment looks like a scale armor, of crocodile, turtle or dragon I cannot say. It is adorned with brightly covered flowers though. The weapons are great gauntlets with jade wolverine-like claws. A mask of jade covers my head like a helm representing the fierce deity’s visage. I hurry to take it down and respectfully put it on a shelf until after I’m finished here.

Blessing crops is rather costly in energy. Even this room, which is far from the dimensions of a real field costs me a third of my power to bless and protect from all ailments. Still someone will have to ensure they grow and that the second part of my ritual.

I have brought two dishes and a bottle of milk to fill them. I’m still wondering how the power I’m about to use work. Vergil ensures me the lower order of beings I’m about to summon are culture-neutral but still I have never heard of Aztec fairies and I’m guessing such spirits would not have wanted milk for their services. So I’m remembering the tales of brownies,sidhes and boggarts before crying in a commanding voice:

“Come people of the plants. Come fairies and elves and sprites. There’s work and food for you.”

And they come, M’gann giggles seeing several motes of light turn around her for a moment revealing little winged humanoids. From the warm soil gnomes in blue and red clothing drag themselves laughing while standing at attention. They are perhaps a dozen quicky descending on the dishes and drinking their fill before awaiting orders. I keep them simple, to care for the plants and ensure their quick growths. They smile and get to work immediately humming a cheery tune.

Well, that was something interesting. Now to wait for Superboy to wake then training. Or I could solve the M’gann issue right now.


	31. Episode 3: First Arms : Part 3

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 3

MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND

JULY,8, 2010 6:15 AM

So how to accost this difficult subject? Well make that subjects. I want both to impress upon her the necessity of being honest as to her true form, be aware of the moral implication of her shapeshifting and be sure she knows what she is fighting for. While I’m sure Martian society has rules and customs as to not mind-rape someone, I doubt they have the same taboos about wearing the shape of others. Indeed, it would be strange a race of telepaths, by definition able to recognize each other whatever the form they’re wearing, would bother with the ethics of shapechanging, especially if they have no regular contact with other species. I don’t think she would willingly violate another person’s mind or disguise herself as a real existing person to seduce someone still accidents happen.

Also and I admit my real and grievous hypocrisy in this, I can’t abide relationships based on falsehood. And “I’m always disguised in your presence” is pretty big lie. It’s enough to forbid me to mantle in her presence lord Vayu of the Yazatas who honor truth in all things but also puts her at risk of being blackmailed if someone caught a glimpse of her true form. I approve of the idea of making human comfortable with her and not shocking them with a more alien appearance but the Team has to know what she looks like even if that puts her out of Wally’s stupid crush.

If I’m at odds with how to bring the subject up in a respectful manner, my method to judge her dedication has obvious abusive undertones even if it’s the most efficient by far. To listen to a city (with me in mind-link to be sure she’s not overwhelmed by the information flow), to feel the crimes being committed, the reasons of the criminals and the pain of the victims. At least after that we’ll both be sure she’s fighting the good fight because she wants to stop pain or protect people and not out of a misguided desire for fame.

This parallel’s heroes judge these children worthy of protecting the world with them, to assist them in their quest to stop crime. I have no doubt they have the power to do so. Still, I won’t let anyone on my watch enter a war without understanding why it is waged or what are the stakes. To do so would be playing on youthful idealism and putting innocents in danger for a cause they don’t understand. I’m sure Robin, Aqualad and Kid Flash are aware the costs of failure in our job, have seen corpses and could articulate why they became heroes in more convincing arguments than “my uncle did it.” Superboy and Miss Martian, I want to be sure of why they fight.

Well if listening to a city worth of crimes is too harsh, I suppose a passage to any great city’s morgue should work too. I would prefer a method impressing on them the feelings involved though. That would avoid unnecessary traumatism in an actual mission if we stumble upon a mass grave or something.

That worked for me, no reason it won’t work for them too.

I look at her. She seems so human, the green skin excepted of course. Normal body type, a little too thin to my taste but not anorexic by any means. I suppose that if she keeps her strength equal in all forms, she can conform herself to anyone’s mad beauty standards without becoming less efficient. She smiles easily. Well in this case it has something to do with the clique of fairies flying around her creating ephemeral garlands and flowers before working on the plants. I decide to take care of things directly.

“So of you and Manhunter, who is the closest to the true Martian form”

She stops smiling, stop fidgeting, turns a nasty shade of violet and begins slightly shaking. Well at least that proves I’m right to solve this at the beginning of our adventures rather than wait for a supervillain to discover the fact. She seems plunged in deep thoughts for several minutes, wondering what course of action she’ll take. I’m waiting but my thoughts turn sluggish. I have the sentiment embarrassing her was enough and I should drop the subject.

Wait. Is she really trying to do that? Concentrating a bit, I’m actually feeling her touch on the surface on my mind, frantic and instinctive. Too instinctive by far. The change is done in a hurry and her touch is light enough I shrug off the compulsion and look at her in the eyes before starting in a false-cheery tone.

“And after all these hours I spent explaining to Superboy you were unable to compel someone telepathically. A piece of advice though, even if that worked on me I have another presence in my head who would react to the intrusion.” And then embarrassment would be the least of your problems. “Anyway, I don’t know how you do things on Mars but here it’s bad form to scramble the thoughts of someone to avoid an embarrassing subject”

I sense her mind departing mine in a hurry like if she pulled her hands from a bonfire. She is truly embarrassed by what I hope is her instinctive reaction rather than the fact I caught her doing so. At last after calming herself, she lowers her head and let her flesh changes like quicksilver.

She’s not so different. She has little to no breasts and her build is much more muscular but she’s still distinctly female. Her bald skull is less pronounced than Martian Manhunter but not at the point where it would be unrealistic. She looks like a younger female version of J’onn J’onnz, not a human girl in green coating. I smile with indulgence.

“Not the canon of human beauty but not unrealistic. Certainly not the stuff of Kid Flash’s fantasies but you seem rather disturbed by his advances anyway.” She answers my next question by advance:

“I didn’t want to look like a freak to humans and the team. Human media sent by uncle J’onn was very specific on the looks of female aliens and…”

“Men can look like monsters but women must be desirable and available for the dashing heroes.” I’m still smiling while I conclude

“I understand why you look the way you do but you can’t hide from your comrades. Imagine if something would have caused you to revert to your form mid-battle? We could have hurt you thinking you had a problem.” I decide to not mention the blackmail angle right now. It is already enough she showed me a truer version of herself. She quickly reasserts her human form while I ask sheepishly.

“I was going to propose to you and Superboy to go training outside and take a look at a real city but I suppose that’s out of the question now?”


	32. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 4

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 4  
NEAR MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JULY,8, 2010 9:15 AM

Finally, there were no problems and I was able to discuss with M’gann the details of the training I had in mind. While she noted she would be unable to cope with the weight of an entire city if we began in one, she thought she would be fine if we began outside and approached little by little. I called the Martian Manhunter and obtained confirmation sensing few people could help her focus her psychic gifts as well as give her an opportunity to test the full range of her abilities. He commended me for thinking of linking my mind and Superboy’s to hers, acting as anchors and familiar point of references for her meditation.

So as soon as Superboy threw off the shackles of sleep and readied himself, we went off to the wilderness surrounding our bases. It was as much a nice stroll through the forest than anything else. With deliberate slowness I convinced Superboy to agree to my plan. I’m not surprised of the ambiguities our clone friend has with telepathy. While he was controlled by the G-Gnomes, he was also raised in their proximity and the touch of their mind on his psyche was a familiar one. Funnily enough I think he will be the most adept of us with telepathy if he can get past his bad experiences.

He will. If need be I will force him to do so. Communication that are difficult or impossible to trace or intercept have no price. With telepathic group link the whole team could range vast distances and act as a coordinated unit. Even if the League is careful with our choice of missions, we will often face enemies surpassing our powers. Coordination tends to win against superior odds and telepathy has the potential to turn us temporally in a single organism able to act as one.

I explained that to M’gann and Superboy and they were both surprised. I don’t understand why she wasn’t aware of that use of her powers, more useful in my mind than remote interrogation or even the sensing of life forces in a given area. We suppose it’s because telepathy is so natural to Martian they have trouble imagining how things must be for a non-telepathic species. As for Superboy, that raises some questions. Was he not expected to act with his unfortunate siblings as a units linked by G-gnomes? Perhaps the different clones were expected to fulfill very different and separate roles. We already pieced with the League Match was surely made for the sole purpose of killing Superman, while Superboy had a more complex mission to fulfill.

But these reflexions can wait. I think we have found an ideal place. The clearing is vast enough to be comfortable, with little risk of damage if M’gann react telekinetically. The forest is all around us and we emit the only recognizable sounds here. I think we have scared all the animals away and this is definitively a little too early for hitchhikers. On my signal we put towels on the grass, drink fully from our gourds and sit cross-legged, face to each other, ready to begin. Under my guidance, we close our eyes and inhale deeply before sending our thoughts to each other.

The first contact is tentative, almost timid, especially after M’gann’s actions this morning. I don’t recoil from her psychic touch and even invite her to renew the contact. Inhale then exhale, eyes turned inside, thoughts passing between us like clouds in the sky. We dance for a moment around each other, catching some stray thought through our slight link then more and more, until our three voices echo in our minds without traversing the air. That part is difficult for our thoughts are not always expressed in words alone. I feel the old caress of the fluid in the pod, the odd sensation of drowning without drowning, I remember the press of minds in the great caverns of Mars. They hear tunes I listened to with wonders, feel fear while lost in a crowd while a child. With time and concentration these parasite feelings cease and we stand separate but linked.

The next stage sees Superboy and I learn to gaze the world without eyes. This is easier than I thought for my link with Tlaloc who is shared by my two comrades allow me to perceive the thoughts of the forest. Not particularly deep or intelligent thoughts, mind you. Certainly not the conversations of the Ent in Tolkien’s works, but thoughts nonetheless. It is a deep and calm rumble. Dreams of rain falling and sun bathing, dreams of sap flowing and leaves greening. We sense them too: The spirits of the trees the Greeks called dryads, hovering at the edge of our shared consciousness, dreaming their old silent dreams for the lives of trees uncounted. We open our eyes without opening them in a plane we built like a bat sense her surroundings with sonar.

The skies are of pale blue and the clouds seem to turn and dance around an invisible center rather than being pushed by the whim of the wind. The great oaks of the forest stand near us and their size depends on their age so some of them reach to the distant heavens with grasping branches. I was wrong, there are some hitchhikers here and we scratch their minds in a hurry as they appear to us like ghosts. I laugh a moment for my nose has found glasses again for the first time in this world. Miss Martian appear as M’gann which makes me wonder if this is due to her greater command of the mind or because she sees herself as humanoid, even here. Superboy appears in the blue and red costume of his genetic donor which means he needs serious help to overcome the need to be Superman. Still I smile

“I see you both and hear you. Now it’s your choice. We can decide it’s well and good and conclude here. I can see if I can impart to you my perceptions of the realm of death and we’ll talk with the ghosts Or we can see how far M’gann’s perceptions can range and circle Happy Harbour.”

“Why do only one of these things” reply Superboy, “we can talk to the dead and see the city”

M’gann is more reserved in her agreement but she acquiesces nonetheless to the suggestion of letting me impart the gift of death to the link. Inhale then exhale. Concentrate on the sensations of the dead, on the dreams the dead dream in their long sleep and the howls of ghosts never found.

More flames rise in our line of views, some are wearing standard hikers’ clothes and marks of exposure. Some are native and I don’t recognize their costume or their language in the slightest. They seem to have died by many causes of death, disease, hunger, old age, despair and each bears the marks. The false sun of this world dims and is replaced by a pale moon in skies color of soot. There are not as many I would have thought they would be for the forest near an inhabited area but still they are numerous enough to serve my purpose.

I smile to my comrades as we rise through the air to look on the forest below. I point to the flames of the thoughts of the living and speak:” They are the reason we fight. For them to continue their life with the least pain possible is our goal.” I point then to the herd of the dead: “They are the reason we fight too. For their sacrifice to not have been in vain, for their suffering to be remembered is our goal.”

We stand a moment in the heavens, like birds afraid of jumping from the nest. We chain ourselves with links of memory and wishes. Then we dive towards the flames of the living and the dead, to the sound of their thoughts, to the memory or sensation of their lives. We dive for an instant become them and understand what we must protect.

The results are somewhat mixed.


	33. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 5

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 5  
NEAR MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JULY,8, 2010 10:00 AM

How to describe what we see and hear with the senses of our minds? Martian language has words for this concept and M’gann is happy to use them but human language has to rely on simile and metaphors. To gaze on a living or a dead person with your mind is seeing what they see without seeing. It’s feeling what they are and what they were, each wound and pleasure, each shame and feeling coursing through you in a terrible instant. It is tasting them, to feel the temptation to let go, to let the very barriers of your identity melt away in a glorious riot, to feel yourself becoming one with your prey, feeling but remotely, each new sensation a new flavor for your hungry palate. It is to understand the forces that govern a person so deeply you are unable to gaze away.

Lust awakens in me at this moment. Lust deeper and keener than any I ever experienced for no experience of the flesh and bones can compare to this. The presence of my comrades is a boon for under their gaze I don’t dare to succumb the temptation of staying like this forever, feeling the emotions and the desires of others, living through them as a faceless entity with many bodies. M’gann and Superboy feel it too but they are too young to really understand what they want exactly. So like me they circle around an individual then leave for the air then dive again to take their fill of experiences. I laugh in the expanses of the “psychic plane”, as M’gann loosely translated the “place” we are standing here. They understand now, what it is to be human for they feel it as keenly as I do. I see a hint of comprehension glint in Superboy’s eyes and I see he understood why we want him to have a human life.

The living taste differently from the dead. The dead are colored by regrets and pain. At least these dead are, which is not so difficult to understand. After all they are not guardian ghosts whose anchors are their families. Some enable my comrades to awaken to the reality of violence by gross and subtle means. M’gann is the most affected as we pass through the pains of deep hunger, the black waters of slow madness, the yellow quivering of fear. Superboy frowns as he walks through the paths of anger, witnessing and feeling the consequences of rage and hatred as we pick some victims of impassionate murder. None of them, living or dead speak. The dead communicate by images and feelings while I admonish my comrades to not speak to the living but to simply gaze upon them. I summon the image of the Panopticon, the place where we see but are not seen and invite them to imitate these concepts and simply look on the world and its inhabitants without interfering.

We rise anew in the high air, our psychic forms shaking with excitement. We could stop there, separate and reach our bodies, return to the world of living sap and bright sun but I’m not the only one who has discovered a thirst for knowledge or the forbidden. We look at the city on the distance and M’gann with a deep gaze bring us here, her mind closing the distance, her perception growing until we feel the city before us, until we can nearly hear the cacophony of its inhabitant’s thought. Dangerous and alluring are these sounds for in each sentence snatched from the whole we hear a tantalizing promise to know all that is to know about humanity from worse to better if we give in.

To our credit we don’t enter right away. We circle around it like vultures or more like moths around a fire, knowing it’s dangerous but daring each other to plunge and bring back treasure from the depths. I think we’re attracted to different things in the roiling mass of thoughts. Love, normalcy, might, tales of heroism, tragedies or comedies. A whole town, even a small town like this one is a universe to a telepath. I know I should break the link and call the exercise off but I’m also driven to the city. All my life I hungered for knowledge about human nature, about how we are shaped and forged. Tasting the thoughts of a city on my tongue will be the closest I’ll ever be to this goal. To understand all the different experiences, the different variables, to understand people better than they will ever understand themselves. This too great a temptation for me. Like moths circling the flame we are.

And like moths circling the flame we dive to our doom.

I’m instantly overwhelmed by the mass of sensations, screams, smell and tastes. The cord of thoughts and shared memories we used snap with a resounding sound for what are a few days of cohabitation compared to the screams of a city. I fall into the whirlpool, unable to direct myself, unwilling to direct myself. I’m dragged from thought to thought, from act to act without really understanding what I’m seeing. For a time I’m tossed around, without even remembering my own name, just a drop in a raging ocean then I regain some of my bearings but can’t stop myself.

Some of them must sense him as the furious winds, or at least what I’m perceiving as winds, make me fall into their minds like lightning, enabling me to snatch some of their secrets great or small away. It’s useless as I have no context to replace the things I see and hear in. I’m unable to distinguish between dream and reality, fantasy and memory. With patience I try and succeed at mastering the currents, leading me to patterns I’m naturally attracted with.

Slight ache in the bones from a late awakening, furtive and loving gazes, taste of lips on mine before going to school, cry of a child making me wince in unnatural hunger. I see many of those and they enable me to extract myself from the cacophony a bit so great is my disgust of the food my master craves above all others. Tears must flow from Tlaloc’s sacrifices just as rain weeps over the earth to make it fertile. Tlaloc the hungry who I dare not blaspheme in the secret of my own soul.

I seek the others, I see them and I jump at their sides. M’gann is passing through victims and perpetrators of rejection. Is she trying to understand discrimination? Superboy I snatch while he’s immersing himself in the thoughts of children and the elderly, seeking a father who is always absent, unaware his thoughts lead him to the situation he deems the more like his own. We try to rise but the sound, the waves are too strong and we are beaten off. We collide in each other, break into each other, pain and pleasure mingled as we embrace at three like lovers, our voices, our voice a pillar of stability in the world.

We rise and the let the universe shrink, bringing us back to the forest but we are always entwined. For a terrible moment M’gann spread her perception rather than reduce it and I’m nearly overwhelmed by her power. I see, that must be state or even the whole continent before she instinctively shrink the universe back. By instinct my deepest thoughts and my fantasies retreat to the depths of my mind while my imagination spread in their places. Still I remember the press of bodies in the caves, catches the sight of some white thing whose sight made me recoil for an instant before being replaced by cold familiarity. The sight of Superman falling from the heavens, struck by one of my mortal blows as I scream to the world I’m the new Man of Steel fills me with guilty joy. From me they catch chastised attractions and broken urges. They don’t understand how my feelings must be broken to my will but I’ll explain later.

We disentangle and it’s not an easy process. To sort our surface thoughts and scrub them from our minds. We remember the feelings of oneness and the surge of power coming from this union with guilt. For a moment we truly became one, or approached this state. We understand each other now. Not rationally but we have a brief memory of what drive the others.

As I open my eyes and massage my ankylosed limbs. I wonder how much luck we had by having none of us turn mad from the sensation. How powerful is M’gann anyway? For a brief instant I had the sensation she could hear if she wished at least all the population of the U.S. Still I’m writing the exercise a success on many levels. Superboy doesn’t fear telepathy anymore. These two know now intimately what it is to be human.

Still I’m contacting Martian Manhunter right away and ask him to probe the potential of his niece in extensive details. If she turns out to be especially powerful even among a race of telepaths we must know to see how to train her and not have her fry our brains in a training exercise.


	34. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 6

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 6  
Hall of Justice Washington D.C  
JULY,8, 2010 12:30 AM

“Are you kidding me?”

I try to keep my tone civil, for all I know I succeed in that. Still I’m incensed. I mean while I don’t know exactly what Superman is going through, I can imagine it. We agree on the major point, he has not to act like a father to Superboy. I’m not asking him to take him for fishing trips as the Americans are so fond of. I’m asking him as the last Kryptonian to help explain to another member of his race how to live with super strength, how to control it effectively and to be ready if his clone wanted to know more about Krypton. I’m not asking him to christen the boy as proud heir of the house of El or to take him to the summit of the Fortress of Solitude and declare “And one day, all of this shall be yours!”

Yet he is adamant in his refusal. He doesn’t want to talk to the boy, he doesn’t want to see him, he doesn’t want to acknowledge he exists more than he absolutely needs to be. We’re are dangerously near to the “you’re a monster and nothing more” territory here. What’s his problem? I understand the feeling of violation. Gods know I would have hated if someone knocked to my door and announced herself as my child. However, I don’t think I would have reacted with such disgust. There is obviously something more to this affair but what? I had no access to the papers detailing the creation of the Superboy for I wasn’t part of the team who extracted them from CADMUS’ rubble. There is something very fishy here and I’ll be damned if I’m not finding what’s going on.

I try to keep calm, I really try. No need to make a scandal right now. We’re in a rare private part of the Hall of Justice, calmly finishing eating. Most of the conversation was taken by Martian Manhunter who joined us when I warned him of the result of our little exercise with M’gann. He interrogated me for a very long time and even probed me to see if there were no sequels of our joining or of the experience of the city. He says he will probe her strength with the utmost prudence for she is much stronger than he thought. At her age she should not have sensed more than the outskirts of Happy Harbor, let alone embrace even for a moment the entire Rhode Island state. I didn’t ask him but he was nearly afraid of what we discovered. This is a little worrying. She’s not some kind of ubermartian, isn’t she?

Anyway the conversation was sorely needed and yielded results but it also enabled Superman to avoid the subjects of the clones. Then he had the gall to declare I seemed to do such a good job, he was sure I had no need of his help to give Superboy all the attention he needed. He was so sorry to inform me Kryptonian culture was a deep and personal subject to him and he was not sure if he was ready to share it with anyone. He had only fragments he didn’t know how to teach to anyone as he was unable to put them in the proper context. As for his youth, that fell under the secret identity and he certainly didn’t want to tell of it to one who could misuse it.

To say I didn’t expect that speech is an understatement. Still despite my exclamation, I try to look at the situation with unbiased eyes. I have an irresistible need to slap him and ask him why he seems to consider Superboy a monster but I relent and inhale deeply. Let’s face the facts and see how they add up. Martian Manhunter who helped me by staying silent after agreeing to probe M’gann’s full potential doesn’t say anything but from the few things I catch of his expression, he disapproves. They have discovered something this week. Something which has reinforced Superman’s prejudice. What could it be?

Superboy is not a full Kryptonian clone like Match. Their physiologies were different and Superboy’s included wholly human parts. He’s a hybrid. Superman is not someone I imagine would have issues with miscegenation or he wouldn’t pursue Lois. So the problem comes from the human material. Who is the donor? Someone evil if Superman thinks his clone would misuse secret information. Someone he hates enough to consider anything coming from them tainted beyond repair. No! That’s not possible. Why didn’t they tell me? My face is twisted in a grimace as I manage to whisper through my teeth

“Luthor. Superboy’s genetic material comes from Luthor.” The grimace of Superman’s face echoes myy own and tell me I’m right.

I have a fit of laughter, mighty and irrepressible. The irony is too great to not be savored. All hail Superboy, son of two sworn enemies, the conjunction of their strengths. At this point I can’t imagine Luthor or at least some of his employees in the know, to not realize how love is close to hate. Then like a black cloud, anger eclipses my glee as I look Superman in the eyes and take a mocking tone.

“So the Man of Steel is telling me he will do nothing for a young boy because his father is evil? That the blood of Luthor will magically compel Superboy to dastardly deeds? So tell me frankly what you’re really thinking as we are between colleagues.” I mark a pause then continues sly and complacent. “I mean my presence is a boon for you in that matter. I think you are the only Leaguer who could kill him, me excepted because I use magic. Do you think we should put it down? Do you want me to take your burden in that task also?”

Answer me yes and I swear to all my patrons I’ll find a way to kill you in such a way Lex Luthor will tell me you didn’t deserve such a fate. Answer me that we should kill a teen because his father is your nemesis and I’ll make the gods of death shudder on their thrones at the thought of what I’ll do to you.

“No, I… I just think we should be prudent. That’s all.”

I snort. “Sir. I wouldn’t begrudge you if you killed Luthor or Desmond for that. They did you wrong, I don’t contest that. I’m just surprised you blame the son for his father’s sins. Also let’s be practical for a minute, Lex Luthor while bad and evil and mean is not a demon. It’s not as if CADMUS had mingled your genetic material with Satan’s.” And pity them if they had tried that, Lucifer would have left a nice charred zone in place of their labs for the offense. I calm myself and try a more conciliatory approach.

“I understand you are upset with the discovery and you are freaking out. It’s normal. I just want you to not begrudge the boy the circumstances of his birth and respect him at least as a sentient being if not as a fellow Kryptonian.”

Superman’s face closes for a moment. I can tell he’s pretty freaked out and deeply uncomfortable for what thoughts come to him in his freak-out. Still if he answers me no or refuses my reasonable suggestions. I will be forced to retaliate. I wonder what would be the most disturbing between bringing Superboy to his grandparents or soliciting Mrs Lane for an exclusive interview of the “Boy of Steel”.

“You care deeply for the boy.” Thanks Captain Obvious, seriously did J’onn need to be a telepath to remark that. I smile while pointing to the claws of jade Tlaloc gave me.

“I care enough to fight for his rights, here or in the training rooms.” I smile to Superman. “It could be interesting. Things could get clearer after you get a full work-out.”


	35. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 7

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 7  
Hall of Justice Washington D.C  
JULY,8, 2010 13:00 AM

There are many reasons heroes fight each other, even in the relatively friendly confines of a training room. Pride and matters of ranks and privilege are the rarest but can still happen. The reckless need to prove the superiority of one’s arms and techniques is more popular. But the biggest reason is still personal disagreement. Even if the League is far too modern to call these “duels of honor “or “judgement by strength”, it is surprisingly common when two Leaguers cannot agree on a thing to settle the matter in, let’s say “involved” training. Superman and I are no different and nobody could claim otherwise. I thought what I said to him earlier, that he needs to tire himself out, to get a good rest after then getting over the situation.

And even if the chances are slim, I’d be happy to deliver him a thrashing to be remembered.

Yet I don’t need to win this training session to win my cause. Superman is a good person at heart and displays of endurance in service of a friend are sure means to gain his appreciation. Mayhaps he won’t consider Superboy evil anymore when I will finish to bleed for him. For bleed for him I shall. I’ve already begun. Small cuts for the moment but appropriate pre-combat offerings, enabling me to regain the strength I’ve spent overseeing the gardens. I stand in full costume. Not the most beautiful spectacle I know. My hands and feet are supplemented by claws of jade; so sharp I’ve asked the Man of Steel to don another costume to avoid his panoply to be shredded to pieces. The helm-mask I wear could belong to one of the Deep Ones, hideous patchwork of crocodile and batrachian with googled eyed and toothy smile. No. Compared to the costumes and ornaments of the League I’m not beautiful but terrifying, and terror is a weapon in my arsenal.

I wait at one extremity of the featureless room. The walls are thick enough to resist the going and coming of Superman or Wonder Woman so we are going to let ourselves out completely. I argued for a good fifteen minutes on the necessity for the Man of Steel to let himself go as fully as possible. I know that for him I’m built of cardboard, and that’s true for Tlaloc doesn’t preside over unearthly stamina. Still I will be using all of my powers to oppose him and knock him out. He knows I’m serious and Martian Manhunter has stayed for observe our fight and keep any accidents to happen.

I’m sitting cross-legged as if in meditation, considering the pathways of my mind. Strange that I would use this wait to ponder over the changes that happen each time I invoke a god. Even the core urges of my being are not spared the influence of my patrons but I feel little to feel angry with the changes. I don’t care the rain-god approves or not my conduct here. My duty is to the team and as the youngest Superoby needs my help the most. I have no intention to shame myself by cowering before Superman when the rights of my charge are threatened. I’m happy the gods approve of my choice but I would have done the same even if I was not channeling one of the Teotl.

Or perhaps not and in that resides all the question. I’ll have to ponder that a moment. I’ll have to clear that when I have more time.

I rise as Superman enters clad in a white training suit. He looks at me with a little amazement. I wear nothing but my weapons and a skirt of mailed scales. The scarification of my pre battle rituals are visible on my skin, their red lines display proudly as proof as my determination. I asked for as close as a combat situation as we can. Whatever the manner he’ll treat me, he will have me in full combat capacity I spread my legs a little, rooting myself in the earth below and sensing a twinge of pain as I channel her boundless strength.

Three. Two. One. Manhunter signals us to begin and he charges me head on, hoping to end quickly what he considers to be a farce. No luck for him as I let my mask work its magic. For a moment the jade is as flexible as flesh and twists in a grimace of true ugliness and power. He doesn’t fear me of course, while any mortal I would have done this trick would have collapsed in sheer horror. He doesn’t fear but he doesn’t strike me and, rooted as I am, the wind of his first blow doesn’t incapacitate me.

But here he comes again and I rise my arms to parry, seizing his wrists. For a moment we wrestle with one another, the strength of the sun against the endurance of the earth. I’m torn from my roots, forced to tilt his way and apply all my borrowed strength to counter him. I fail and with an ample movement of the arms he sends me flying through the room.

I attack as soon as I touch the ground, charging him with the speed of lightning. I take advantage of his brief surprise to strike him one, two and three times with my claws, each time scratching the invulnerable skin. He’s surprised for magic weapons are not often used against him and he’s unaccustomed to bleeding rather than burning or being punched by someone as strong as he is. I smile a moment before repeating the maneuver with this time electricity strengthening my swipes. I draw blood once more.

He quickly regains his bearings and punches me in the stomach, the blow nearly strong enough to make the organ burst. I dive and roll backwards to disengage. Not a moment too soon I do that for he looks at me with a gaze of scarlet and the ground where I stood is red hot for a moment. Yet he seizes me, rises me at the height of his eyes and for a moment I fear he’ll kill me. He only slaps me with heavy blows before casting me to the ground once more. This time I hear bones break. One does not fight the Man of Steel without consequences.

For a, moment I stay prostrate. In another training session, that would have been an unhappy accident signaling the end. And it would have been necessary. I fell on my left arm and the pain is excruciating. Still I cannot stay down. I won’t let Superman ignore his responsibilities and wait for the end of the year to decide Superboy is not evil. I rise slowly, nursing my arm. Superman is bloodied but I know he struck me more by surprise than feelings of danger. I hesitate. Mantling Tlaloc now would be a mistake I think. I must gain or lose my cause, not destroy the room and try to kill the Man of Steel. I imagine the future if Superman refuses to see reason. A team with a severely emotionally disturbed youth, bad feelings between the Team and the League if the latter seems to reject their friend, conflicts in the League itself perhaps.

I can’t let that happen. I rise limping. A surge of power down my arms force the flesh to react as bark and sap and regrow itself. Another cloaks my skin in viridian bark. I stand ready, in pain but ready.

He actually smiles. Perhaps he’s happy with my resilience. He doesn’t attack but stand at the ready, inviting me to charge. Well sir, if that’s what you want.

I let my weapons be once again traversed by lightning but reserve the last of my power. I keep it in my throat, letting it build like a storm brews itself over many days. I charge him, yes, claws before me ready to shed blood. He intercepts and dodges the blows as I thought so I let my last weapon out. If he’s deaf to the movements of mercy or empathy for his clone. Then deaf let him be.

I scream with the voice of thunder. A low pitched version of Black Canary screams. I scream to a man who is able to hear a fly beat his wing in the next building. He winces in pain as I shred my throat howling. The sentences of my wrath I let flow and they actually tear him from the ground to make him strike the nearest wall.

Still I know I failed for he launches himself to me as soon as my mouth closes. No hasty punches this time, he just pinches me strongly enough to knocks me out and I fall into unconsciousness.


	36. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 8

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 8

MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND

JULY,8, 2010 15:00 AM

How could this happen? And more importantly, how can I assure it will not happen again? How can anything like this not happen ever again?

My steps echo along Mount Justice’s hallways. I don’t run, I’m still too weak for that, the power who healed my flesh after my spat with Superman has taken its toll on my strength. Still I make haste as I can. I know their state but I’m driven to their side. It’s the least I can do even it’s useless. And I don’t know yet how useless or not I will be.

When I arrive M’gann and Superboy lie in beds in the infirmary. According to the charts on their brains’ activities, they sleep peacefully but Red Tornado explains to me it was far from the case when I was in the Hall. The responsible of this sits merrily on the robot’s shoulders, for a moment he seems to have the good sense to jump and hide as I approach. A G-gnome, of course, looking at me and at them with dog-like eyes. I feel a great desire to destroy the creature but I relent. As I understand a G-Gnome alone has the intelligence level of a well-trained parrot so we can exclude any malevolence on its part.

He must come from CADMUS but how the hell has it come to this place? I thought the Cave warded by science and magic. Don’t tell me the League has neglected our defenses. I mean, I know these gnomes can hide in the smallest nook and cranny and evade instinctively most sentries but still it’s mighty strange. Well I don’t know the details of the wards the League has built to protect their youngest members.

Because there’s wards, technological, magical or others, there must be defenses to protect the place against intrusion. I will check that in a minute after I’ll have the details of what battle they were fighting in the recesses of their minds

I ask Red Tornado what happened. He didn’t seem distressed and neither was Wonder Woman when she woke me from my post-training stupor to send me here. The android looks at me and declare in monotone.

“Superboy and Miss Martian were training together when they crumbled on the floor. I was looking at the cameras of the place and found the Gnome. Our monitoring apparels signal they were battling heavily in their thoughts before they abruptly stopped and fell to sleep.” He pauses: “They were mumbling about the Joker’s attack which caused the League to forsake this place.”

What? The League abandoned this place because the Joker found it? And they send us here without even warning us the psycho clown knows about the base. Well that’s not worrying at all. I have the reaction all people would have and asks about defenses. He candidly informs me the place is not warded against magic and if the passageways Joker used last time has been redrawn (Thanks Green Lantern), security measures rest in the fact none know the base is once more in activity.

I nearly fall on an infirmary bed laughing myself to death when I hear that. I understand secrecy can be a mighty shield but still it’s not what I would call enough to protect a whole team. Sooner or later, someone will find our location and we must be ready to defend ourselves. I send a thought down the depths of my mind:

“How powerful would be the best warding I could conjure and what it would cost me in time and energy?” The answer comes, not in words, but in a vision.

I see the mountain brimming with its own energy. The whole Mount Justice claimed as a sacred place by the power of this world, consecrated to the service of justice. In addition to provide us with sanctuary, the mountain could reinforce my comrades if they offered the proper sacrifices to it. I see in the depths of the cave another stone claiming this place as sacred and offering other strength. I see ornaments of seashells and wooden masks claiming this place as tapu, sacred and forbidden. By three pantheons special gifts I can claim this mountain as our unassailable fortress. And that’s not even counting all application by the gods of guardianship and defense, the jealous rulers of the underworld who can grant me a portion of their vindictiveness to defend their home to safeguard my home.

But it’s not only my need to be safe, but also my ambition Vergil is flattering for I see now the hallways and the rooms glistening with runes of power and talisman of protections. I see band of lesser spirits as I employ to tend our gardens patrol the corridors for the price of meagre food offerings. Not only then but all the lesser immortals of the forest who can come to the call of one who masters fertility. Dryads and Naiads and all their cousins could serve us as defenders and advisors.

Of course this establishment would have its price, a heavy price. First to consecrate the place I would need time for at least half my patron should be consulted to aid to my great work. Some I would have to mantle and use all my energy to inscribe the signs of warding. The second price would be all these creatures great and small will ask for sacrifices. I for myself am not opposed to this idea. I mean, according to Vergil, it would be enough of a beef or two sheep by month to content every lesser and greater power, and most of the meat would be ours to eat as in every sacrifice ever. It would basically mean slaughter our own meat but I’m not sure how the Team or the League would consider this.

It’s the third and final consequence that frightens me a little. For all I’ll do to protect this place will mark it as a sanctuary for the forces of death. The images in my head show me a place where ghosts will be able to manifest at leisure, where the scenery of the Underworld would be visible at the edge of an eye. It would be holy ground where even the Team and I would have to pay our respect. A secret temple to death and justice. Not the most reassuring comparison for my comrades.

Still I’m satisfied with what Vergil show me. While I’m not sure the League will approve of the whole, some of these things cost nothing I can’t pay myself. Also it will be a great design for temples and sanctuaries I will build elsewhere, great complexes where each of my patron would receive its due. I smile because that brings me to another decision.

I don’t know the result of my spat with Superman but I will lose nothing by ceasing to wait. When Superboy will wake up, I’ll talk to him of the gods. Not only of my patrons but of everyone from Zeus cloud-gatherer to Agni of the burning fire. The inspiration he asks of Superman he will find it in myths and legends of heroes. Or at least he will have the occasion to pledge himself to people who will care about him.

After all dedicating an orphan to the gods is a long and tried tradition.


	37. Interlude: Change of Heart

Interlude: Change of Heart

FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE

JULY,8, 2010 11:00 PM

“Do you think we should put him down? Do you want me to take your burden in that task also?”

It had been a very good question. What did he think exactly about the clones? If he was honest with himself, Superman had to admit he didn’t know. He felt some kind of ill-defined disgust for the two boys. Even the terms “boys” was difficult to use in regards to these things and after this afternoon, the Man of Steel wondered why he couldn’t think of the clones as sentient. Was it because he wanted them to die and dehumanize them was a good way to accustom himself to the idea? Perhaps. In this case what was he, what was Superman if he meditated the death of thinking beings?

He sunk in a chair. He couldn’t think of that in Metropolis or DC. Here there would be nothing to push him to destroy buildings or excite his wrath. He couldn’t escape the cold fact. Even if he hadn’t tried to kill his clones, he had wished them simply to disappear of his life and die. And for what? For the violation of his intimacy, of his very flesh to breed weapons, perhaps to be used against him? For this insane mingling of his genes with those of his archenemy? Both of these reasons or perhaps neither of them. He didn’t know. There was a part of his mind that screamed the boys were unnatural and he thought it was a normal reaction to vat-grown organisms. Dante couldn’t fault him for this, he who had killed because he thought he was facing animals.

He couldn’t tell which one of them disturbed him the most. Was it Match with his raging personality? There was something terrifying to look at the clone’s youthful face and imagine it twisted in a grimace of rage, to see these younger hands and imagine them having the strength to break his neck. Bruce was right, it was the perfect weapon to use against him, it would take a fortitude he was not sure to possess to slay a mirror image of his youth. Superboy was more insidious. He looked more human, having a personality did miracles to make a good first impression, but his more advanced programming gave Kal-El pause. This was a creature created to replace it, perhaps even to fool the world once he would have killed him. That didn’t explain why CADMUS had created him as a hybrid but Superman had no doubts Luthor would have found a way to exploit even a weakened Superman.

So he was unnerved by Superboy. It was normal he thought. Bruce or Diana could perhaps gaze without fear or contempt on a weapon designed specially to kill them but he was not able to do so. Still Dante was right. Either Superboy was dangerous and should be disposed of, or he was good and would rise from his destined programming to stand among the League. There were no other options. If the clone was able to have good intentions, he should be taught to act on them. If he was irremediably led to evil, he should be taken care of.

For a brief and terrible moment, he had wavered. For an instant he was tempted to answer yes to Dante’s proposition and seal the boy’s fate. Of course, after the training session, Superman had little doubt such an answer would have left him maimed or even killed. One does not propose you to assassinate someone then fight a superior opponent for their sake and protection. To have the young hero who had previously declared himself afraid to fight Superman take the initiative to engage him a training bout had been surprising. Still he had wavered and thought about killing the clones and solving the problem once and for all.

It was the image that stopped him. Seeing his own youthful face with a dead smiling face, blood marking their throats. For a moment he had thought Dante more inclined to slay them peacefully but then remembered how himself would fight against a determined and capable opponent. To see himself, a younger version of himself but still pretty much a mirror, limbs cracked by battle, throat gouged open or head cleanly cut off was too harsh a vision. There had been also the realization of delegating the murder to someone, not because Superman himself was unable to commit it but because he couldn’t bother to do so while wishing it, would have been acting the way Luthor acted. It would have been murderous hypocrisy at its finest.

So Kal-El asked himself the only question that mattered now: Did the two clones deserved to join their brothers in the grave? He didn’t think so. Firstly, he was, as most of the League, a stanch abolitionist and he could not wish the clones submit, just for the crime of existence, to a fate he refused to visit on murderers. Secondly, the clones had not asked to be grown and exist. If murderous rampage it should be, this rampage should target scientists and CADMUS’ employees not the products of their fault. He considered the taking of his DNA like a rape but he knew it was wrong to blame the children born of the crime for the sins of their creators.

Still it chilled him to the bones he had been willing, even for a moment, to approve the murders of two boys because he couldn’t be bothered to sort his feelings out. Worse, considering the age and inexperience of Superboy and Match… He had been willing to murder children or stand while a subordinate took care of the problems for him. Forget Superman the hero, Clark Kent simple farmer’s son was appalled at what he considered.

Why had he not thought of this sooner? Because no Leaguer would have laid the possibility of making the clones “disappear” before him. None of his friends would have thought to kill them, Dante, who had argued the League should kill Match rather than leaving him a mindless berserker, had n such scruples.

In the sanctum of his wintry home, Superman thought about the meaning of his epiphany. If he couldn’t kill his clones, it meant he should be closer to them. Not as a father for he was not their father but like the young hero had mentioned as a fellow Kryptonian. He knew only bits and pieces of his destroyed planet’s history and most of it came from the Green Lanterns’ rings database. Still if what he remembered was correct, Superboy was destined to attend high school. That meant he would need a lesson or two on controlling his strength. It had taken most of a summer for Pa to teach him how to not break something or someone in P.E.

Superman knew duty and knew what was his concerning at least the sentient clone. For Match, things would have to wait.


	38. Interlude: Release

Interlude: Release  
NEAR MOUNT JUSTICE  
JULY,9,2010,01:00 AM

“Are you sure that will even work?”

I walk along the trees, attentive to every sound. Shame weighs heavily on my heart. What I’m planning to do is wasteful. It will hurt no one but neither will it help someone other than me. It’s pure indulgence and I’m asking Vergil if his ritual will work to spare me the possible disappointment. My new comrades, my charges would laugh if they saw me there. Laugh or perhaps in Kid Flash’s case ask me if I can do the same ritual for him, with some modification obviously. Anyway I will do it and feel better afterwards.

What drives me to this? Lust has never been the sin to hold me most in thrall to the contrary. Is it the possibility to consort with creatures beautiful beyond mortal ken? Possible, after all who even in this strange world can boast to have known the embrace of a forest spirit? Vergil assured me these lesser immortals, of the same order of divinity than satyrs, nymphs and others elves are close enough to humans to make the transaction not creepy. After all, didn’t nymphs marry mortal kings in the mythology? Didn’t river spirits receive spouses and sacrifice when they asked?

I dimly remember a story about Zatanna summoning a lover in the main D.C universe and the thing not working so well for her. She tried to create him from the void and I seek to summon it from a people known for their promiscuity but I understand the risks. I smile dimly. It would have been easier to take a zeta tubes and cruise the local bars or sauna to rest my desires but I don’t trust me enough to do this. To channel a power of fertility and beauty and take this mask as my own for a night would be far too easy to my taste. Too easy to twist someone’s desires to my own.

Any relationship, as brief and meaningless it can be must be between equals. Too much power and creepiness is an issue. It’s the rule I followed in my parallel and it’s the rule I’m still following here.

The ritual is simple enough and the instruments are laid before me. A bright red towel, rose blossoms, three scented candles, incenses sticks and swan feathers. No need even to channel a god when you know how to send an invitation. Most of this paraphemilia is for show, only a means to show my intentions to the invisible. And I’m ready to do so, ready to embrace it.

Is it sad than my first try at magic outside the pursuit of my duties is for me to get laid? I don’t know. What I know it’s that’s the first thing magic is used for in many cultures. Love potions, amulets to point you in the direction, the list is long. So many ways, to charm, to invite and to command. Even demonology is often used for the summoning of incubi and succubi to one’s bed All magic is child of cruel Desire and you can’t so easily gainsay one of the Endless.

I smile softly as I light the candles and the incense, enjoying the riot of smell. My senses are far from keen, all five of them and only violent expressions like these can I feel without difficulty. As I’m bathed by the perfumed smoke I take the roses and the feathers and burn them one after the other, whispering prayers to fair Aphrodite, to Freyr and to all the others powers of desire. I send a call in the tapestry of the world, an invitation, like when Io of Argos called for the king of the gods to share her bed.

And he comes like I thought he would as an oak open itself to let him pass. Vergil whispers in my mind this one is of the tree-folk, the very spirit of the glade I’m sitting in. I could have guessed that in seeing his appearance, human and yet inhuman. Not enough to disturb, enough to be aroused by the charms of the unknown.

He’s tall but fortunately not as tall as the great trees of his domain. His skin is of the brown colour rich earth, sometimes broken by what seem to be tattoos of vines and trees and thorns. His hair is of the color of leaves and some are braided in it. He’s humanoid, four limbs, no obvious inhuman characteristics. He’s not a satyr with goat-legs and elaborate horns or a centaur with an equine body. He’s not even like the Ent to be shaped like a tree. Still he’s not human, he’s too perfect, too shaped like one of these marbles statues the Greeks crafted long ago, an Adonis or Phoebus come to life. Perfect proportions, strong yet vulnerable, enticing and disarming.

Of course I know I see his own powers at work even unconsciously. The powers of fertility and of nature are always attractive even when they seem monstrous. It’s part of their nature as it’s part of the nature of fire spirits to burn or ghosts to mourn the flesh they have lost. Still I admire the perfection of his form and the calm wisdom of his inky eyes.

He doesn’t speak but communicate by images and emotions. Sap running, saplings being born, the way of all life. Like every creature he is able to want, to long for something and in a forest nearly tamed as this one, humanity is never far. Lucky for me. I would not have wanted to sleep with a tree like the ones I sensed with M’gann and Superboy this morning. Still his request surprises me for he wants a mortal-blooded child.

I pause. Not for the mechanics of the act I don’t care about. I informed myself before coming here and know these kind of spirits are genderless able to change their forms at leisure. He is a he only because I summoned him in this shape. Still I don’t know how a child could be sane if raised only by animals and nature spirits and we don’t need another Poison Ivy.

We argue by images and smells and sensations for a while until the glade child relent. Our child will be a spirit as him with just a tad of mortal blood to make it more apt to interact with humanity and possible worshippers. I will also come back to summon rain and bless the grove as soon as I’m able.

Who would have thought spirits to be greedy?

Still I accept and as we fall in an embrace, I feel the warm touch of fresh soil surround me, making me another growing plant.

Well that’s certainly different from what I expected.


	39. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 9

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 9

MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND

July,10,2010;10:30 PM

“You are not sure she’s dead! How can you be, perhaps they just captured her!”

Kid flash angry protestation drives me to the main room but, to tell the truth, I was already going here. Seeing the three sidekicks arrive together and run away to the computer to investigate would be suspicious enough without Wally screaming to everyone apparently someone’s dead. I smell bad decisions and consequences in this and don’t think I’m actually wrong. Partly for that, I decide to not enter the room but just eavesdrop their shouting match until I can learn what it is about.

I sigh though. The day had been spent so well, between mind linking and exploring the nearby countryside, beginning to teach Superboy mythology and to spur his interest for solar figures and preparing the description of the array of defenses I have in mind for the Cave to the Batman, I deemed I have worked well enough. Having a call from Superman saying he would come take Superboy for a discussion tomorrow was the icing of the cake. Well, Well. When you think you finished, you discover more and more work to do.

What they are talking about quickly works me in a frenzy though. From what I gather Robin hacked his father’s files, (I think it’s an habit for him nowadays but I wonder what the Bat thinks of that or if he’s aware of it), then asked his good friends to join him in Central City. I’m slightly baffled they didn’t call Superboy or M’gann to join but perhaps they judged them too far away. Anyway, they discovered CEO Selena Gonzales was targeted by the League of Shadows (What with that name?) and tried to protect her. Again without referring either to me, their supposed comrades or their mentors. Parsing their shouts, they failed and got her kidnapped and perhaps killed. That pisses me off for so many reasons I explictely send a thought to M’gann and Superboy to stay outside the main room for a little while. Then I decide interrupt them, walking in the room and calmly speaking.

“I can check if she’s dead or not. But don’t think if she’s alive you’ll face no consequences of this”

Their reaction is almost comical. They were so engrossed in their shouting they didn’t note my presence until I was among them. Kid Flash jumps backward and almost manage to trip himself up, Aqualad while still stoic, looks deeply ashamed and almost blushing, and Robin is positively scowling. Kaldur regain his bearing the quickest and asks:

“Please do so. We know we screwed up but not at which extent.”

I smile producing a knife from my belt. While having a gun would be difficult due my low targeting abilities, a knife is a good thing to wield in any case from my devotions to defense. I’m smiling but the smirk is all but gentle as I explain to them their blood is required to the ritual. I have no sympathy, in any sense of the terms, for this woman and wouldn’t even know how to get her if I had to do this alone. As they accept, surprisingly quickly, to shed some drops of their precious blood on the blade. I examine the dossier they brought up. Apparently Mrs. Gonzales was working with CADMUS or at least funding them Interesting.

As Robin hands me the bloody blade I wonder. Do they know how much they failed in this? Not only they obviously mismanaged their mission but they didn’t even warn their elders or me of what they were doing. They managed to beat two Shadows’ goons but they could have died and we would not have been the wiser. Do they realize whatever this ritual’ results I’m calling their mentors in? If this woman is alive, the League must help us try to get her out of the Shadows’ hands. If she is dead, they must be warned of the failure of their apprentices and enact punishment if they wish. But that will wait for a bit. Indeed, the three of them are so ashamed they didn’t even ask how I would check their charge’s death.

I hold the knife and splits my palm open with it before tracing a circle on the ground. They disappear to my gaze as I focus my eyes to look to the world beyond. If I’m authorized to clad this mountain in the iron defenses of the Underworld, that sort of thing will be easier. For now it will take all my energy.

“Selena Gonzales!” I cry out: “By your name, by the blood of your failed protectors, by the debt they owe you, I call you. Selena Gonzales by blood and ash and bone, I call your spirit from the realm of the dead. Selena Gonzales, called, called and thrice called, come in the name of the gods that rule the dark sojourn!”

And she answers unfortunately. I feel my energy wanes as the call is issued and a cold wind dance around the room. Even they see her coming through the mist. She looks like the photos, dark skin, brown eyes black hair but of course all of this has the tint of a badly done photos. She hovers in mid-hair and we can see the bullet hole in her forehead well enough. Clean and efficient, at least.

I sense her struggle against the spell, stretch her bindings for a little while before I’m forced to release her to the ether. All this time she doesn’t speak or even try to, she just looks the three sideckicks with accusatory glances before dissolving in ectoplasm.

Well that settles it. However, I’m not happy and my voice takes the smirking mocking tone I always have when I’m angered:

“Congratulations heroes. You managed your first mission alone! That was going beyond the call of duty for myself, our two comrades or even your teachers could have helped you not getting your charge killed but that’s the thought that counts I suppose. So lighten up and think about how you will present that to your mentors. I’m sure they will reward your initiative as it must be.”

Thank the gods, they seem to sincerely regret their escapade. If not, I would have bound the ghost of their failure to the Cave to greet them each time they enter. Yet I think as I shift the computer to communications and send the message to Aquaman, Batman and Flash their protégés had a new intiatibve with bad results I will feel pity for them before long.


	40. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 10

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 10  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
July,10,2010;12:00 AM

At least the shouting has ceased.

To tell the truth it surprised me. After all, I was not expecting to hear Batman or, gods forbid, the Flash shout at their protégés. A disapproving glance, perhaps a light spanking would have been what I expected from heroes. I’m surprised but not disconcerted. The League having no patience for idiotic pride and its consequences is fortunate. For obvious reasons I was not with my comrades while they were dressed down but the phrase: “If this happen again, you give your costume back” came quite often. As I foresaw, I feel a twinge of pity for the three of them. Not enough to shield them for the consequences of their mistakes though. Doing so would be an insult to the dead woman they failed to protect.

I briefly wonder which of them has it worse. Well Aquaman proved himself a maverick while he’s meant to be in the military. The trouble with disregarding procedures is you get punished when things go wrong and you discover they are there for a reason. Dick and Wallace have not only pissed their mentors off but also their family members. Indeed, I consider that for them the forced stay in the Cave is akin to grounding. Which means I got to find a way to keep them busy and not causing mischief during this time. Perhaps I could threaten them with dumping in one of the Underworld.

Yet I’m totally agreeing with the League’s punishment. The three of them will stay grounded here for the next ten days. Defense for them to go out for any reason, save direct word of their mentors. Batman and Aquaman threatened many times to take their apprentices’ equipment for the span of their detention but finally relented. While Robin and Aqualad take the thing with strides, Kid Flash tried to mouth it off. Emphasis on the “tried”. I would not have believed Barry Allen could shout this loud and his warning that he would find a way to “undo the friggin formula you cobbled up in your basement” and take his powers away seemed to shut Wally up. Gods are my witness, if any of the three try to complain for, let’s say the next three days, I’ll end them.

M’gann and Superboy are there with me. Explaining the situation to them was difficult and I wouldn’t want the dynamic trio to explain in details their fuck-up. At some moments I feel I’m petty and spiteful but that pass quickly. They were proud and refused to pause to ask for help. They sought the problem and tried to hog all the glory. I would have been angry if they lucked it out and managed to save their charge. Now? When they failed and caused a death that could have been easily avoided? There are very few things the League could have done I would not have approved. Hell if they had taken their apprentices on their knees and spanked them raw, I would not have been unhappy with the results. Childish arrogance asks for a child’s punishment after all.

They get out at last with sunken eyes and chastised air. Their mentors follow them with still angry and disappointed expressions. I think the disappointment hurt more than the anger. Aquaman, the Flash and Batman have all reconsidered the wisdom to take a teen sidekick. I think it’s the last time for a good while Robin manage to hack the Batcomputer or the League’s files. Still the sidekicks come to place themselves besides us, still not daring to look up. Surprinsingly it’s Aquaman who announces the verdict to the team.

“Robin, Aqualad and Kid Flash did a great mistake.” Understatement of the year your Majesty. “They will stay here for a while, the time to think about what they done. We will discuss their mistake and use it to teach you what you are not to do in a mission” That is surprisingly pragmatic, I suppose the three mentors will try to unravel the mess they left them with. Aquaman continues, this time speaking directly to me.

“They’re grounded for all intents and purpose. They don’t go out except for training and we’ll see if we approve of that” He glares at Flash. “They stay here and learn the virtue of patience.” He turns to them next.

“Dante and Red Tornado and any hero visiting this place will act as us for the time being. Their orders are our orders for all we’re concerned. Trick them to go on others adventures and the consequences will be direr, for all of you” What? They give me authority on their brats? No it’s uncalled for, they are not that bratty. At least I’ll have a stick to make the next days livable for everyone. Batman glares at everyone with such intensity even Superboy shivers and they leave after some pleasantries. Well that makes three new hosts for the Cave. Fortunately, the rooms here are modulable and setting them up takes little time. I decide to not lose time.

“Well now that’s finished. Follow me. We need to set you up for the next days. Save if you want to sleep on the floor tonight?”

For a moment I think at least Aqualad will answer me he’ll do it. I wonder if the Atlanteeans have a concept of penitence and ritualized atonement. Judging from Kaldur (Yes I know judging a culture from a unique example is bad) I’ll pick them as adherents of stoicism or other philosophies. Yet he follows me sheepishly like the others, ignoring the comments of Superboy and M’gann trying to cheer them up.

That’s odd. I know such dressing down are not current but apparently they are more unexpected I suspected. They seem not only ashamed but also completely flabbergasted at their mentors’ attitude. What did they expect for such a fuck-up? The League leaving them go with a slap on the wrist and some harsh words? Arrogance is not a quality you want to foster in your sidekick and future hero.

Still I’m reassured the world still turns the right way when I spy a glint of malice in Robin and Kid Flash’s eyes. I have no need of telepathy to see the gears of their minds turning. Are they thinking about how to turn their grounding around with some rule-arguing? Are they thinking about how easy it would be to escape my vigilance or even convince me to let them go and do what they want? Ah teenage cockiness how I miss you sometimes. It was refreshing to think everything was possible. So I don’t crush their hopes yet and lead them in silence and let them plot silently.

I’m almost sad I will have to foil their plans if they continue to have them. But hope is only the first step on the road to disappointment.


	41. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 11

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 11  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
July,14,2010;11:00 AM

I’m surprised they took so long to act. I’m not surprised they tried something like that.

There are real advantages in possessing a skillset you are alone in your team to master. One of these advantages in my case is the knowledge to ward both sides of a door and forbid some people to be able to pass the threshold. I mantled Ereshkigal for this endeavor, channeling as much of the old Babylonian goddess who keeps the above of the dead sealed as I was able. I was very satisfied in my ward but I took the time to customize it for three days, shifting the consequences of breaching it from painful to comical. If these two had been patient enough to wait their ten days, they would only have been subjected to a cold shower.

What happened to them now they tried to escape their detention? I was very specific in my designs so they hang by the foot by the two sides of the gate they tried to pass. One of their legs is bent between the other, their hands are tied behind their backs. They were in their skin-tight costume so they are decent enough but by the gods they won’t be if they try to be smartasses. They are bound by shimmering runic ropes appearing from the thin air and I’m sorely tempted, not only to let them here but also to order the ward to coil around them and encase them like insects in amber. Staying in stasis until their guardians come forth to take them out would be a good lesson but I’m not sure I have the right to do this.

I must admit Kid Flash and Robin’s plan was good and would have worked if Red Tornado had been the one watching and had I not warded the accesses. They waited until I trained with Jonathan (Superboy new name, courtesy of Superman) and M’gann. They knew by experience mind-linking can be a little distracting and they acted. Perfect stealth, nice hacking skills on Robin’s part to grant himself access to the gate controls and they were almost outside. Unfortunately for them it’s not because you have overcome all physical obstacles you have won your prize.

I go to them, without haste, no reason to not let them simmer a bit and gaze upon them. I almost regret to have judged than to try to incorporate fire in the barriers was too dangerous. A burned hand or in this case an afternoon or two butt-naked and immobile can do wonder in teaching you not to play with fire. At least Kaldur didn’t join them. I include him in the list of person forbidden to go out but I suspected he wouldn’t try to escape detention. Still I’m sure he was aware of their intentions and didn’t try anything. I choose to believe he thought I had taken measures and wanted to see how things turned out.

“Well, Well. What have we here” I say in the smugest tone possible. I’m not surprised at all by the answer.

“That’s not what it looks like!” beat “Ok that’s totally what it looks like but besides the point. What have you done!”

“Simply ensured you couldn’t go to play outside before mommy and daddy say you could.” I keep my pitch higher than normal until I’m nearly childish in tone: “Continue like that and big bro will have to give you a spanking and send you to bed without lunch”.

They seem to be mildly offended at the idea I treat them like babies but then when they will be tired to be treated as children, they cease to act as one. Not that would be not extremely creepy considering Robin is 13 and gods know these kids deserve a shadow of youth before becoming full adults. Still they compose their face and appear as contrite as you can be when your hanging head down. Time to relieve them of their distress. And gleefully impose new ones on them. I smile and begin my spiel with obvious delight.

“Now I understand you feel bad being immobilized for more than a week, without going outside and play and laugh and cause the unnecessary death of someone you tried to protect and all. And the League are jerks by not sending us trainers to relieve our boredom.” Seriously tat’s an oversight if I ever saw one. Is there no member of the League who can be spared to at least watch over us? Except Red Tornado of course, which I enlisted in my little project. “So I have concocted a little training regimen inspired by the one the League made me do when I arrived here. It will give you an occasion to stretch your legs and tire yourself out.

Or you can stay here until I decide to let you go free.”

How surprising they choose the training, without inquiring on what it is. Well I suppose it’s also my responsibility to teach them life is full of unpleasant surprises and dangerous maniacs. I think they know that already but a reminder is always useful in these matters. I let the ward release them and guide them to the room the others and me spent so long preparing.

It’s a labyrinth of boxes and metal containers, a maze, as huge as we could be with enough nooks and crannies for someone to hide for a time. The three others are already there with Red Tornado hovering at the place we will share above them. I let everyon set up when I explain the principle of the training exercise.

“It’s very simple. Red Tornado and I will attack you from on high and you must dodge our attacks. When we’ll finish that, we’ll have a little series of fights.” I grin at the two errant sidekicks: “If after that you are not sleeping soundly tonight with no thought of mischief, I can forsake my power.”

I go place myself at the summit of a pile of boxes, giving me a nice view on half the labyrinth. Still only one thing remains to persuade them this is serious. I begin to chant; a scene familiar enough even Miss Martian is not astonished:

“Sacrifice is the way of all life and thus I call upon you who received so much. Life is a sacrifice to death and before you, people sacrificed their youth to the fire. Strength of the bull, terrible visage and great fire burning. I call upon you Moloch who in Carthage was worshipped. I call upon you Moloch who the Bible mocks and insults. By fire, death and burning sun I call upon your name and power.”

The touch of Moloch is not clean, not clean at all but it’s efficient especially when I cut to the chase and mantle him immediately. I grow a full head bigger and several inches larger while my face is transmogrified as a fanged bull. Fire comes to my breast, coils around me like a cloth and my smile is ravenous. I let a sphere of pure flame manifest in my hand and juggle with it a bit before announcing firmly.

“Three. Two. One. Ready. We begin!”

Then I send the fireball in the middle of their group and watch them jump in all directions.


	42. Episode 3: First Arms: Part 12

Episode 3: First Arms: Part 12  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
July,14,2010;01:00 AM

Dodging is fun. Well no, it’s not fun at all when you are doing the dodging and I felt pity for my comrades even as I pounded upon them with fireballs. After all I had been in their place three times already. The first had been with Green Arrow generously teaching me even mundane weapons could be a threat, then Martian Manhunter taught me everything could be made to hurt me, finally Captain Atom proved the sheer variety manipulating energy could take. Each time I emerged with bruises and cuts and so I understand perfectly the faces they make after our little exercise. Unfortunately for them, I’m not finished.

It’s not their fault really. Except for Kid Flash and Robin who absolutely desserve every minutes they spent running from wind and fire. I’m loath to bother the same god twice in a day and would rather not lose a hour to gather them all in the arena for one more round. Besides, the point of this is also to see the limits of their endurance. When the League tested mine, I dueled with Hawkman for three hours straight before being overcome. Even Shiva’s legendary fortitude paled under the Thanagarian’s onslaught. Still I fill my voice with all the honey I can muster (who would have thought Moloch Baal of Carthage whose offerings are burnt children to be charismatic) while talking to them.

“You have been super on this one! No one was touched by fire and hurt. Which is better than I managed to do. Points to Jonathan for using some of the boxes as improvised shields.” To tell the truth I was very surprised he managed to break them and use a broken pane as cover. “And Robin to managing to sneak on Red Tornado.” He can be proud of it the smug bastard. Neither the android nor I managed to find him as we were busy burning and blowing the other away. “But it’s not finished yet.” I jump from my perching area to fall among them and grins while continuing:

“We’re gonna to finish this with a simple fight. A round only ending by K.O. That should tire you out quite nicely. You’ll fight me.” At this the reactions are pretty mixed. Superboy and Kid Flash are eying me with something like pleasure, for quite different reasons I wager. Robin seems ready to disappear in the shadows but he smirks too. Aqualad and M’gann are wary, they are vulnerable to fire and that was a reason I chose Moloch as my patron for this endeavor. They must learn to compensate their weakness as much as they are able.

“I will let you fifteen minutes to discuss strategies and mind link with M’gann. After that, ready or not, I’m burning you”

That’s also something they must learn before we go to missions together. I sit at the center of the makeshift arena, smiling all the way. I gave them all the advantages of coordination, preparation and cover. I don’t know if they realize yet but that will be the situation with most our targets: a team overcoming a more powerful individual. Red Tornado leaves the room to monitor time and warn us of the beginning of the fight. I close my eyes while they position themselves around me. They will need time to be accustomed to M’gann mind link but I’m sure they’ll manage. And if not, better against me who can heal them afterwards than against a live adversary.

They are five arrayed against me but I don’t expect they’ll win. Kid Flash and Robin, Miss Martian and Superboy can coordinate two to two but not all together. As for Aqualad while he can join any of the groups he’ll have problems being really part of one of them. As for me? Moloch grants only two powers in addition to quick wits and good charisma that are of limited use in a fight: The totemic might of the bull and fire. Not too shabby against five teenagers.

I hear Red Tornado announcing the time is up. His voice has not finished to resound on the speakers I’m forced to jump while a volley of batarangs arrive on my position. Ok, at least Robin is quick on the uptake. Speaking of quick… I touch the ground and i must face not one but two of them. Kid Flash arrives with his accustomed speed and tentatively punches while I flail ineffectively. Aqualad is the third to arrive and I grunt as the water blade he bears scratches my back. Well I wanted action. What are the two others doing?

I have the answer at my question when my opponents draw back for a little and I hear the whistling in the air of heavy objects launched at great speed. The item in question is one of the containers we used to build the maze of the last exercise. I’m happy to see Superboy’s definition of “using the terrain at my advantage” is still unorthodox. Well if they want to play at that. I concentrate all my power over fire in a projectile and let the metal box fall in broken melted fragments.

Aqualad being the only one to not have regained cover, he’s the target of my ire. I materialize a sword of fire to struggle against his water-bearers and fall upon him. That was not a good idea for while he’s visibly struggling with the relentless heat now emanating of my body, he’s a much better swordman than I am.

Still I don’t make it easy for him or for them. I clothe myself in living fire until my demonic-looking body seems a living shadow wreathed with flame.

Well in for a pence, in for a penny or whatever the expression is. Before any of them can jump at the help of their comrade I materialize a second weapon, a whip. Now all that we’re lacking is one of them proclaiming that I SHALL NOT PASS and we have a good set-up.

Kid Flash has joined Robin and their tactics seem to pelt me with various projectiles, not able to harm me significantly but quite enough to make my situation difficult when Superboy join Aqualad in engaging me in close combat. I suspect M’gann’s contribution to the battle is in aiming the projectile, for none of the boxes, batarang, grenades and other broken down items they launch bother their comrades. And to say I wanted them to learn coordination!

At last my capacity to materialize my weapons of flame again and again wins against Aqualad watery arms. A lucky blow from me breaks the water-bearers blades in smoke and mist. Sure my own sword is broken by the blow but still. I launch my whip forward, scratching his neck, just enough to put him out of commission. Kid Flash replaces Kaldur while Superboy send me a punch that send me flying. He gets a burned hand for that, but it places me in Robin’s reach. A handful of smoke pellets later and I’m completely blind.

Well what can I do? Burn the whole thing? No I risk to seriously burn them if they are trying to attack me in close combat at this moment. Run? In which direction? I don’t want to come again face to face with Superboy with the three others using me as a pincushion. Fortunately, we have no archer on the team. Better to stay and weather the storm.

Kid Flash runs at me with his accustomed speed. He has the time to punch me four or five times in the face better running to the end of the room and back and send me in a wall by the sheer momentum. And there I see what M’gann has been doing while my fire kept her out of close combat.

The whole maze is no more, its constituents’ elements risen from the ground and hanging in the air. Well I didn’t know she was able of that. I smile. I know I lost the moment I see she’s able to send the content of the whole room flying on me. I can burn most of them but I’ll have no strength to fight the others. Still, I said that bout would be won by K.O, so no bowing out.

M’gann finishes her Palpatine imitation by hurling the whole thing at me. I expend my energy by shielding myself, conjuring fire hot enough to reduce metal to slag and dodging the rest. She is quick enough I have not a moment to assess which projectiles are really dangerous and must expand myself to destroy them all. When she is out of ammunition. The four others strike.

I dodge with difficulty the flurry of punches by Superboy and manage to use the last of my strength tripping Kid Flash with my last fireball. I small pain in my shoulder and I see Robin’s grappling hook firmly embedded in my skin. Aqualad is still groggy from his time-out but his blows still hurt. Yet I think I can perhaps take him out.

Wait! Robin’s grappling hook is embedded in my skin?

Lightning wrack my body, making me limbs shake for a moment before I pass out from the pain.

Well, for a first time they work well together. Shame for the electrocution though. I could really have been satisfied without it.


	43. Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 1

Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 1  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
July 17 2010: 09:00PM

It’s not the moment to have stage fright. Not when I’m so close to fulfilling one of the goals the gods gave me. It’s not the moment to let nerves spoil everything I worked for.

It’s not exactly stage fright though. I’m eying suspiciously the rafts of the warehouse I’m borrowing for this ceremony, trying to glimpse the form of the Bat. I’m not at the stage of jumping at any sound but I would certainly be calmer if I could see him appraising me from above. I know he’ll be here. He would be here even if I didn’t warn him of what I was going to do.

Which I did obviously. I mean there’s discretion and rank idiocy and not telling the Detective you are planning to form a cult in his city belongs to the latter category. I won’t say he was comfortable with the idea. Even Wonder Woman who worships the same gods I do in part is not a great fan of the whole pagan revival thing. The League is loath to intervene in the affairs of mortal men, except to punish their transgressions.

I admit I find the whole thing strange but really when you think about it, it has its explanations. The alien Leaguers are cops not technicians, Batman already spend his days improving the world as Bruce Wayne, Zatara is a homo magi and not a ritual magician able to teach his skills and so on and so on. I still don’t understand why they don’t do more than arrest criminals superpowered or not but all organizations have their own irrationalities. I think they fear the power they wield, which is a very good thing. Building cults must be considered too much an influence on society for their tastes.

Still they agreed to let me honor my masters. I refrained to point asking their permission was more a social nicety than anything else. As long as they don’t do anything overtly criminal American religious organizations can be as diverse as they come. Hail the country of the free, where all you need to start a church is a large enough congregation.

Well I’m sure in practice it needs a bit more than that but still it’s certainly easiest than in Europe and gods know I’m taking advantage of that right away. I spent a week going to this wretched city of Gotham all days after training my comrades, spending the rest of my energy healing the sick, preaching to the poor, summoning cliques of helpers for some benighted associations and all that sort of things. It was tiring work to be sure but rewarding. One of these associations enabled me to borrow this premises in Gotham’s Bowery. They use it as a soup kitchen and most of the people present here who are not converts I healed previously are customers.

All religions thrive on extremes. Who converted to Christianity when Paul and the apostles preached? The poorest and the richest, for different reasons. I don’t want to preach to the rich yet, primarily because my leftist preconceptions shudder at the idea at what they would ask for my services but gods know I have the poor covered. Now that I think of it, I should also thank Gotham’s Mayor for their help. I don’t know how they managed it or if they are an isolated case but there’s a market for miraculous healing here. When I began, I thought I would spend my healing days curing cancer or replacing amputated limbs, not purging lungs from tuberculosis or children of measles.

Well at least the good that I did will outweigh what I’m going to do.

I’m sitting at the end of the room, waiting for the last people to arrive. Word of mouth and a week of miracles have gathered a hundred people here. Most know I’m a healer and that I talk about the old gods who were worshipped in times gone by. Some I saw after having healed them, those who required the mantling of a god of health have confessed strange dreams full of pagan symbolism. I’m wondering if it’s a side effect of the divine power expressing itself through me.

Anyway I’m hesitating but it doesn’t take much time. I see maimed people in the crowd which means another row of cures and I need to be able to captivate them all to make them listen. So there’s only one goddess which can help me in this. Even if I take her powers in a direction very much unlike her.

I rise and walk to the fore where aspiring cultists have managed to raise some sort of pulpit. I smile hearing the whispers of the crowd while I speak in terms some of them are familiar with:

“Lords and Ladies be with you!”

I hear some whisper by reflex “And with your spirit” and smile before continuing: “Most of you I know. Some I healed from old wounds. Some I offered the comfort of seeing a loved one again. Some I protected against threats and some I fed. And when you asked me why I did that, I answered it was not for my sake but in the name of the gods.” I advance towards them. “Some of you asked me who are the gods and I answered and invited you here to behold them.” I spread my arms wide and embrace the crowd. “Come you who despair for you shall be consoled! Come you who are sick for you shall be healed. Come you who want to know death for you shall behold it and live to tell the tale!” That doesn’t sound very convincing, does it. I’m not an orator by trade, after all. Still magic can remedy to many deficiencies. So I invoke the lady of Hellheim, she who was imprisoned at the roots of the great Ash Yggdrasil, she who rules all the dead who fall not in battle. I invoke her name and her titles and some faces brighten with understanding or dread. And I let her power wash over me.

Even without the mantle, it’s horrendous, both burning and freezing, the venom of a snake falls down my throat and my blood runs cold for a moment. The right half of my body begins to visibly decays, nerves showing, bones protruding through diseased muscles. Yet I contain the change and force the crowd’s attention to the living part of my body, to consider the rot as beautiful and the living flesh as charming. I see their eyes transfixed towards me, unable to look away while I transform under their gaze. But I have other instruments than a pretty face. I make stark and commanding gestures, shredding the veil between the world of the living and the dead.

Three ghosts, man woman and child appear before me and kneel and sing in adoration while set my sights on the crowd. My words come naturally now, charged with power.

“My masters are not jealous gods. They simply ask for your reverence and your offerings. In return they shall heal you, disclose the riches of the ground to you, rob darkness of any fear it may hold. And after you pass in their domains you shall know peace eternal without being like these shades tormented by your errant desires.

Do you want to be prosperous, healthy and strong? The gods can provide in exchange of respect and sacrifices for from their domains spring all things and all things return to them.

Do you want to know what comes after? The gods do not hoard the secrets of death and I can describe you the worlds beyond. For those of you who are brave enough, I can even bring you there to see all.

Do you want meaning for your life? The gods can give you meaning, part of an epic struggle against the forces of chaos. Kneel before them and you are a part of their myths and their fate becomes your fate.

Do you want simply gods you are sure exist? Look at me and know you look to one the gods have touched. My powers come from them and their commands become my sermons.

For I am their soul and messenger.”

I pause a moment, leaving my speech enter their brains. I can’t compel them to believe or even worship and I wouldn’t do that even if I could. Still I need a brief pause before the second act of my piece. Besides the League was clear. Only those who are willing can be present for that will follow. So I intone a last time.

“Those who are not convinced by my words are free to go now. Those who stay will behold the divine world I represent.” Behold is a bit of an understatement there. I’m sure none of those who will stay of r my little trick will refuse to join me in worship. Still there won’t be any compulsion in that matter.


	44. Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 2

Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 2  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
July 17 2010: 09:00PM

None has left the room. Good. I thought so.

Some may find a hundred worshippers very few when the preaching is done by a super-powered being. I don’t think so. Jesus preached for three years through Israel and his followers were not much more than a hundred when he died on the cross. All religions begin small, begin as cult and they end the same way, reduced to a small core of followers. A hundred people can blossom in thousands if the crop is tended the right way. Which brings me for the next part of my little act.

Mantling Hel is not a nice or even easy experience. The Lady of Hellheim’s bad temper and coarse disposition translate as pain through my nerves as I assume her form. This time I can’t contain the horror of her scarred flesh and I become something very distinctly inhuman. That was the goal after all. Let them all behold the divine in a form they can understand. Let them see me and kneel in worship. Let the face of the gods be branded on their brains so that their dreams become prayers to my masters’. And let them praise me as the Messenger who brought them to the gods’ feet.

Is this an illusion? Perhaps. I use my powers liberally to enhance my forms. I am now nearly as tall as the building, giant among men but the gods are not bound by human proportion. It is my will that shines through this glorious mantle and help me in captivating my audience but it’s the goddess’ own terrible visage I show to the crowd. The beautiful face that makes them swoon when it’s turned their way, this hint of beauty that entrances, the allure of death that seduces, all of this is hers. The scarred horror of the other side, provoking such terror rotting flesh and bone should not inspire, it’s hers also. I’m only a shadow of her divinity, still too far from the human realm to being deemed natural.

I build on that foundation, I let power suffuses my skin and show them the wonders I’ve described. For a moment the whole room seems to shift before their eyes: Green serpents are coiled along the roofbeams, their eyes ready to judge any transgression. The concrete walls have become scented and lacquered wood and the universe seem to shrink and expand at the same time. I whisper softly and they see the dragon and the well with the corpses, the bridge and the halls that await every sinner. They hear the roar of the hellhound at the gate and the laugh of the lady declaiming every fault of every soul passing through her door.

I feel their gazes upon me and I feel fate twist and shift. Something is happening, something momentous for me as their belief, as their faith is for a moment concentrated on me. I feel joy coursing through my vein, power that is not of my lady rising through my heart. Their worship is simple tribute for the gods, useful but not determining. To me? To have a hundred people, even faceless and nameless enter my story, tying their expectations to my fate? It’s intoxicating, so intoxicating I’m inclined for a moment to disregard Vergil’s warnings. For as their expectations strengthen me so I’m wondering what a full-fledged religion revering me as the bridge between humanity and the gods could do to my power, they also impose what I can do or not do. I appeared to them as a healer, a nurturer and a comforter and so they imagine me now.

It has its merits and flaws like all things. Yet at this time I feel my powers over healing attain their peak, breaching even the limits of the mantling. In their midst, at this instant, I know I’m able to anything to the human body. I could breathe life into clay and marble and rise humans from the dust. But I have a more practical thing in mind.

“You came to me as the first to recognize the old gods. So I give to you my blessing! In the name of Hel mistress of health and disease, I bless you.”

My power coils around them, go in the crowd, assessing their respective health, bathing everyone in green light while I’m concentrating. My first attention come of course to those who are maimed and handicapped. These ones are pushed gently as I remake them in the image of perfect health. Limbs regrow, eyes fill orbits, deaf ears open to hear my voice. However it’s nearly the least of my gifts to them. I give to them the gift of perfection. I can’t give them super powers and I wouldn’t want to do that before knowing them more but I can bring them to the extreme limit of human fitness and I do. All of them are immediately transformed, losing years and weight and brought to the pinnacle of mortal strength. Then I seal the deal with a rapid protection against disease, powerful enough to last years.

“Know you shall be untouched by plague and disease now. No sickness will blight you again as long as you keep your faith in the gods above and below. Know each of you is reborn. A sign for those who have yet to believe. A reward to you who came to my side.”

I use the last of my energy to make the changes in them, at least the internal ones, contagious. It’s a reverse plague destined to destroy any disease in their loved ones or friends. Just the time toweak the means of transmission and there it goes. I continue my speech.

“You are now beacons in the dark, wellspring of health for those who draw near you. You have come to me for healing of the body and the mind and you go into the world as healers yourselves. Thus you know the might of the gods!”

I look at them and smile with pride. There are only a hundred but every person they cure of something obvious, every person who will notice the changes in them, will come to my masters in the end. And when I’ll call they will come to me for a part of them will remember what I gave I can take away. I nearly laugh while spreading my arms wide and concluding in a sentence few of them will understand.

“Ite missa est! Those who desire hear more of the gods and how you can serve can come see me. The rest of you go with my blessing.”


	45. Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 3

Episode 4: Windbreak: Part 3  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
July 17 2010: 09:30PM

There are merits and flaws in each action you do.

Revealing myself to found a full-fledged cult was necessary to cement the place of my patrons in the world. Each convert is like a beacon in the darkness of the World enabling my masters to reach beyond their high domain without being by Fate ensnared. Unfortunately for me, their light, their faith shone so bright when exposed to my light. Fate saw me and turn its attention to my thread of life, judging my life too mundane for the role I claim to have. Even now it takes action to rectify this mistake.

At least it was Vergil is telling me, in hushed tones as he feared to be heard. Apparently Fate exist. “At the side of the Presence” and is a power even beyond the gods. Despite the way he describes it, my advisor doesn’t know if it’s sentient or not. Apparently it’s a force able to place you in a genre and rewrite the probabilities around you in accordance with the narrative people place you in. It’s very unclear but it’s the reason why the gods don’t visit the world except in vastly downgraded forms. Because I assumed the mantle of Healer and being hailed for it, Fate will enhance my healing abilities. However, it always takes away with one hand while giving with the other. Vergil whispers the League, by instance, has renounced to some things while gaining their powers and prominence, and their legend is not yet completely written.

I’ve written the first act of mine this evening. Health, disease, the song of flesh and bone are now parts of me even if I don’t channel a god or channel a god not associated with these concepts. Could I grow in might and stature until encompassing all aspects of creation? Is it possible if I play my cards right to set my sight on the throne of heavens? To become myself a god and be worshipped as one of the deathless? For a brief moment of hubris, I even dare to think upon this girl in the comic Lucifer whose name ended up as the fundament of all creation. Yet she was Michael’s daughter and YHWH’s granddaughter so I prefer to count this place beyond even my wildest dreams. Still the possibilities are endless.

To become the cycle of life and death like so many of my patrons, dying each winter to be reborn with the sudden spring, creating a world without hunger or want, without disease or harm of any kind like a true Golden Age.

To become an avenging angel, flying with the wind and striking with the thunder, rising in the east like the dawn to take the wicked by surprise and bring hope to the just. Become the champion of the just and the power behind all who fight injustice.

To become a horror, clad in shadow and flame but only turned against the unjust, being worshipped by those who fear and answer their prayers in fire and blood. To be the vengeance and the night and wield that power to purge the world of vice and sin.

All these are tempting and all of them have their prices but every steps on the toes of those who came before, be they human or divine, I would prefer taking a place none is standing on. Still as I walk Gotham’s streets, my eyes are lit by the potential I see in every actions. Still, I laugh bitterly for at this time I’m still weak. My legend is whispered by few and has not yet taken the world. Thrones and principalities and powers are close to my mind but far from my hands.

Still it is sweet to dream and not very nice to be interrupted while pondering the future.

I almost bumps into a trio of women. While I back off whispering excuses, for one of them is positively ancient I stop. I sense, even without seeing them with the eyes of the gods the power that wreathes them. It’s not theirs. It’s something summoned by their, and my presence. Well I wanted to know more about Fate’s design. It seems I’ll have answers.

To my great frustration I can’t assess these women in details. Their features escape my eyes and my mind like flowing water. I can only say one is young, the other rotund, and the third wizened. The force that possess them make them indistinct. Only their roles are important. Clotho who birth the thread of life, Lachesis who weaves it and Atropos who cuts it. I bow with respect before them for insulting the Moirae is not a good thing to do. One of their manifestations killed the embodiment of dreams, after all.

“Kindly ladies. What news have you for me?”

They chuckle. The sound is not heartening at all. Yet I know they are bound by old rules to answer me. And besides, what would they have appeared to me, if they didn’t intend to enlighten me on a subject or another. If I could avoid their attention I would. I have no need of the cowering voice of Vergil in my head to tell me I should fear them. Still I meet their gazes and await the oracle deliver. One answer for the past, one answer for the present, one answer for the future. But first they greet me.

“Hail Raphael. Hail you who lost his path in the swamps of death!”

“Hail Raphael. Hail you who serve the gods of life and death!”

“Hail Raphael. Hail you who shall be a lord in your own right hereafter.”

It’s much better a deal that poor Macbeth had. No compulsion to commit murder on one of my comrades out of jealousy. I suppose it helps I’m not married.

“They spoke of you in the gardens of the great ones!”

Of course they talked of me, they empowered me after all, I’m sure they discussed it beforehand. Wait. The great ones. Are they talking of the Endless? No that’s not possible. Even a divinely empowered champion is beneath their notice. Except the Endless have motives of their own. Come to think of it, isn’t Death the superior of my patrons in the greater scheme of the universe? Anyway I doubt this sentence bodes anything good.

“Beware traveler! In the light you see but you are seen!”

More ominous and confirming my suspicions. Things are not going to be peaceful yet. I’m surprised the a third prophecy.

“You will follow us!”

And with that they disappear but let in the middle of the street a shimmering gate. I’m not sure what to do? On one hand I could easily snub them and thus spoil the plans of Fate. On the other, I don’t know where this gate leads. For all I know monsters could spring out and ravage Gotham. Still for the same reason I’m not going in this alone.

I take my communicator and for a time hesitate before contacting the Team.

“Dante to Aqualad. I’ve got a problem. When you have finished with Red Arrow, please send me the two of you in Gotham.” I hear him acknowledge the call and I contact the League.

I have a bad feeling about what lies beyond this portal.


	46. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 4

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 4  
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

I am not one to question how a parent educates their child.

Scratch that. I totally always do that. It’s one of the perks of feeling like a crotchety old man at 24 and it’s far better than complain about the kids themselves. You can’t expect a child or even a young teen to be disciplined if their education has led them otherwise. No I don’t blame the dynamic trio for their indiscipline, I prefer reserve my contempt on the guys who thought crime-fighting children were a good idea. Then again, this world is so different on this topic I can’t really say anything. I mean Batman, Flash and Aquaman thought, after reflection, a week of grounding was enough to have my comrades learn their lessons. I can’t very well argue with Batman on how he punishes or not his son, or Barry his nephew.

Robin and Kid Flash were cross when they called me to say they were my teammates on this one. Apparently Red Arrow, as Roy is now known, refused to join the “kiddie Justice League” and prefer to go solo. Good for him, the world can live with heroes unaffiliated with the League. Now all he has to do to join the team of his dreams is to become a true hero in his own right and make people forget all about Green Arrow’s protégé.

While waiting for my support to arrive, the League being busy with the usual stuff and apparently having no problems with their sidekicks jumping down a portal to an unknown place, I draw the cards to see where this portal leads. I’m counting on the presence of the Fates to make this divination a bit more effective than usual. The Fool, The Sun reversed, The Ten of Swords. Chaos, unhappy childhood, ruin? What does this reading means? Never mind, that just means I’ll have to choose a practical god.

“You who wander in the shadows, you whose servants howl during the night and stalk between the tombs. You who protect tombs and whose servants devour the unburied to bring them to the dark domains. Anpu named Anubis, god of embalmers, of jackals and necropolises I summon you. Anpu the Jackal who lights the way to the abode of the dead, I invoke your name and your power.”

I smell sands and incense when my incantation is ended. I smell the dust of precious mummies and feel the weight of the scarabs replacing the heart. There is pain as I have the impression someone cut my side and take my organs away but it ceases. More disturbing is the changes of my eyes that now sees too much to my liking. I look on the gateway before me with living eyes and I hear faint cries at the edge of my vision, the scent of burned thorns (how the hell I’m able to identify that?) and a sensation of being slowly taken apart.

Robin and Kid Flash arrives at this moment while I’m thinking of getting in by myself. They do their best to not look excited. An impression that deepens when they see the frowning I make while pouring in the shimmers of the gate. That’s of no import. I try to fill the silence, to conceal my malaise without knowing what will happen when we step through. They answer better than I could do with pleasantries, tall tales of them with Aqualad busting the weapons deal Red Arrow was meant to stop. Red Arrow was not grateful for the help, which is worrying considering he was not exactly doing good when Aqualad and Green Arrow intervened. Well, not my business.

I realize what a mistake I made the moment we emerge from a seamless transition.

I think the heavens are lousily trying to emulate the colors of dusk but all they manage is the color of long dry blood. The ground we’re walking on is so parched and sterile I have doubt it ever supported life. There are dry branches and withered twigs, rotten flowers a The walls and the rusted gates seem to be in disrepair but an intuition tells me we’re not going to pass them easily. The smell of decay is nearly overpowering in its sweetness. It’s wet too, making the dust adhere to us like a veil.

And of course there are the bones on the red sands. Not piles of it or a pyramid. That would at least be somewhat dignified. No, they lie on the ground where someone cast them. What disturbs me most as I kneel to examine them is that some extremities seem to have been gnawed on like I do with chicken legs. Except that these bones are too big to be chicken. Some are human it’s sure but others seem less so.

I don’t need the eyes of a god to be wary of the mansion we see before us. We arrived in the courtyard of a small but opulent domain. The house’ is strange. It has everything a house should have: roof, gates, windows, walls but there is something distinctly off-putting in its allure. Perhaps it’s its architecture giving the impression of some great beast crouched in wait. Perhaps it the rot I see everywhere, from the withered vines growing up to the barred windows, the broken-down inner gates. Its shadows draft shapes in the air, seemingly seeking to look inviting but not really managing it. I feel in my bones the will ofthis place, for it has one. Like but not like Xibalba it is alive in a fashion and it’s distinctly hungry.

I concentrate and send my perceptions in search of an exit. The gate we passed seems to have disappeared on us but I see others all around, some are in the buildings, other in the destroyed gardens around us. Sensing none of them can be passed on the way outside heightens my malaise as the eyes I see in in the fabric of the world.

Where are we? The Dreaming? Not likely, these bones and all this scenery feel real and I think even the depths of nightmare would not outright kill their visitors. I would be on Faerie because its inhabitants can be monstrous predators. Why the Fates send me there? Are they trying to kill me? Perhaps but I think it likelier whatever is this place or whatever lives in here needs a good killing.

My comrades are eying suspiciously the mansions’ doors. I would prefer not go in there before being sure we have no choice. I approach thoughtlessly one of the statue and without meaning to let my hands course along the surface. I immediately jump in horror.

I felt flesh! Warm flesh at that! I examine the statue I believed to be representing a cherub, in rapt attention. Their gender is not identifiable at first glance but they were human. I see a soul, or what seem to be the tattered remnants of one struggling against strong bindings. What could do such a thing? I know no creatures feeding on the souls of children. Apparently the master of the house does, then he devours the flesh.

I grimly wonder what meal is the most satisfying and consider our options. Kid Flash try to run along the wall but to no avail. Robin goes near me and whispers the lock of the outer gates is jammed and can’t be opened. That doesn’t surprise me or them. This place seems like a trap. Well. Guess we have no other solution than to enter the spider’s parlor. Whatever stalks this forsaken hole will surely try to eat us. If I have my word to say on the matter, it will break its fangs on our hide.

I signal my two teammates to follow me in the creepy mansion and stay near me. In the depths of my mind, I have the impression I should recognize this place but my memory seems to actively flee and Vergil and me.

Whatever it is, I’ll find a way to burn it to the ground and salt the ashes.


	47. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 5

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 4  
THE HOUSE BETWEEN THE WORLDS, FAERIE?  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

This place looks creepier and creepier with each of our steps.

It was obvious from the outset it was not a normal house but it’s only when you enter you understand how bad it is to actually mimic one. Strangely the comparisons that comes to my mind is one of these old adventure games were mansions have no kitchens or bathrooms but just puzzle rooms. Even when you’re a kid, you understand something is no quite right. This place is a more sinister version of that tropes. Oh some things are well imitated. The wooden floorboard cracks just right under our careful steps, the hallways are realistic enough I suppose if you except all the slashed portraits.

We advance carefully, nearly crouching, staying on the path I divine with Anubis’ powers. Most of the time we keep to the corridors but sometimes I feel driven towards one of the secrets passages that open everywhere. The one who rules this place must take pleasure in the hunt for this is a predator’s house. The rooms that open up have no doors to lock, no furniture to barricade them. Some are even trapped with fiendish devices destined to ensnare the unwary. There are many hiding places but Robin points out each one we encountered has multiple ways for someone to sneak on the person hiding. Some of them are occupied with more abominations like the ones in the courtyard.

They are not dead. It would be easier, far easier if they were just dead. They are insects taken in amber. No, that’s not the right metaphor. They are immobilized, unable to move or even scream, they are fed on but still they live. Some of them were obviously moved together around tables, or beds in grotesque poses that make my comrades and I shudder with disgust. There are many inhuman creatures with them, unicorns, tengus with long noses, elven sprites and other mythological fauna. All are stuffed and arrayed like in a museum exhibition.

At least they are dead but even those of the children we found stuffed register as alive to my sight. How can this be? I caress the waxen skin, lightly touch the glassy eyes, even feel the straw behind the flesh and still I feel life and the essential spark of life beneath it all. My comrades don’t notice and I don’t tell them but I kill some of these abominable sculptures we come across. A simple touch on their forehead and a whispered prayer and most are gone. Unfortunately, I can do that only for the most ancient of them. The others, I dare not detach their souls from their moorings, in fear of waking whatever lives here.

The path is strange and its turns and twists are unpredictable, sometimes we walk merrily across ballrooms and corridors during what seem for hours, other times we go from room to room crawling along what would be the servants’ passages in a normal mansion. Not that the place doesn’t change as we advance. I mean we have nearly done a full turn according to my internal compass and we’re not seeing the entrance again.

The walls are now of stone broken by bleeding openings. Remarkably unsubtle. The ceiling has disappeared high above our heads and everything has grown to giant or near-giant dimensions. That doesn’t make things less creepy, on the contrary. We find bloodied piles of clothes, shackles and rank of manacles. The rooms are sometimes filthy in blood and gore with weapons on the wall taunting the living corpses within. In one we see ranks of chains holding small shadows tight. Beyond the barred windows we hear the roaring of the dark sea. In another room, this time of baroque style with beds of silk and the smell of rot hidden by incense heavy with the scent of blood, we vomit on the golden floors when we look too closely at the scenes painted on the walls. My comrades are a little too young to understand why these paintings and frescoes are for but I read enough to understand their purposes: Manuals for the room inhabitants in case they lacked ideas. And as Kid Flash point out that proves we’re not in Kansas anymore I don’t contradict him even if he’s mistaken.

We enter a gallery. More of these sculptures arrayed like a division on the parade ground. This is not a metaphor, they wear uniforms of every kind and every places. Most of them are boys but I see some girls too. Dusty plaques are fixed upon each display but they wear only numbers and not names. There are magical creatures here too but they are not so many. Is this place more connected to the human world than the realms invisibles? I cast my perceptions around, seeking the one-way gates I had previously noticed, I see them still and they are many. I’m tempted for a moment to cast my eyes beyond them, to understand where they open and when I succumb to the temptation I’m not surprised. I see oddly-angled walls in some streets, glades in deep forests, wells and ravines and all sort of holes. With most of these places it’s a miracle the owner gets his food alive and able to move. Or perhaps that’s exactly the point.

We find the boy cowering in the gallery beneath a stuffed unicorn. We almost jump when we notice him. He looks like a Harry Potter clone to me. Fourteen years old, haggard and thin, with black hair and glasses. No lightning scar on the brow . That’s a plus. To my sight he appears as human and yet more than human. I concentrate and can’t find many faults in him. A normal boy? That makes the situation a bit more complicated.

We approach cautiously. Of course he’s afraid of us but when he looks on Robin’s costume he seems to have a moment of recognition and crawl out of his hiding place. I try to have a smile as comforting as I can make it before asking him in a low voice.

“Don’t fear. We’re here to help. What’s your name, boy?”

“Jack Bone, sir” Now that’s a lie, which means he knows a bit of magic and the importance of true names. I appraise him again and suddenly I remember him. That’s pretty fucked-up though. In the comics this story happened in winter, twenty years ago. I have no idea how much of what I know has happened in this dimension. Still it costs me nothing to try a bit. Also if he’s here, that must mean the owner of the house is… Go figures, that would make a bad situation worse. Also it looked very much not like this in the comics so no assumptions here. I retort to the boy.

“Nice thinking, but we’re not enemies. Tim can you please tell us where we are and what you know?” The look on his face tell me I’m right.

Well nice to meet you Timothy Hunter. I would have hoped we were not in this kind of stories but still, nice to meet you.


	48. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 6

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 6  
THE HOUSE BETWEEN THE WORLDS, FAERIE?  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

“So the creep with the two mouths bring me in this room where three of his friends are waiting. There was a giant and ogre made of rusted metal, bleeding oil all over the place, with eyes shining like diamonds. And a monk.” A monk? What would a monk… Ah the monk of the Children’s Crusade! Why have only one despicable defiler of children when you can have three. Actually that’s probably what saved poor Tim. “And they begin to fight with each other on what they’d do with me. The creep wanted to eat me, the giant to break me, the monk to sell me to the highest bidder.” Yep. This is the guy I thought of. “The teen with the cat was laughing his ass off at each sentence.” No idea what or who this one is. Tim described it as a guest who was trying to recruit the three others.

“And all at a sudden, they are looking beyond the room and smiling and telling about how an “unexpected luck” had served them. I ran as fast as I could when they were distracted planning.” That is very disquieting. I doubt whatever these monsters are, would consider Robin and Kid Flash an “unexpected chance”. They had to be speaking about me. I wonder what would happen if they tried to eat my soul or what remains of it. Would the gods sense their nibbling? I think yes. That could be a good strategy in a desperate situation.

Unfortunately, we are in a bit of one. Tim can confirm by his explorations and the page he holds dear we are in the presence of the Manticore. Which means I can’t let any of these three fight it as they would automatically die even if we managed to kill the thrice damned beast. I have no idea of the capabilities of the two other creatures or that teen with the cat but I must trust my comrades to prevail if that’s the case. In the best case, they won’t have to fight.

To be fair, as soon as Batman said “covert operations” in the forming of the Team, I knew it was a call I would have to make, a role I would have to play. I’m the most resistant and potentially the most visible of the company. I think Tim doesn’t register yet as an Opener for I doubt even the gods’ power could compare to one who can create worlds at will.

I will thus be the perfect bait. Especially when I’ll begin to actively empty these monsters’ larder. I address Robin and Kid Flash with what could well be my final orders/recommendations.”

“My powers detect gates leading out of here near the dwellings of these demons. You shall lead Tim through one of them. Now I don’t know wherever the gates lead but Tim has visited his share of worlds already, he should be able to recognize the place. If you find yourself in Faerie” I glare at Wallace “don’t eat or drink or accept any gifts. Don’t break a promise.”

The rest I don’t say. How could I say this boy is perhaps the most important person alive in this world and that if he dies the world’s magic will suffer a heavy blow? How can I explain to Tim what I’m not sure myself, that he’s the Merlin, embodiment of magic and, I have no doubt, the whole reason the Fates led me to this place of torment? That will have to wait.

They leave and keep to the shadows. I feel fear as they disappear from view. No not fear. Terror. I remember how the Manticore’s venom is described, I remember the state of Tamlin’s corpse when he took it into himself. Perhaps I’m mistaken and the gods won’t care or notice their champion being encased in amber for eternity, an endless spring of power for ancient monsters to consume while children’s flesh becomes anew their sweetmeat to feast upon. What if all my efforts end in me being stuffed in a grotesque display, spending millennia wishing I could scream?

The answer is simple: They won’t result only in that. I will consign their previous preys to oblivion rather to let them being bound again. They can feed on me and they will appreciate it as the only meal they can feed on until new prey comes here.

I’m terrified but what I feel has no importance compared at what I can do. I cast my perceptions around, beyond this room to embrace most of the manor, most of this putrid lair. When I’m sure to perceive most of these horrid sculptures, most of these traps, I inhale deeply. There was a reason I couldn’t bring myself to do that while the others were present. I begin to intone, my voice echoing in the hallways and the room to each and each desiccated corpse, in the tongue ghosts whisper their messages to each other. I say only a word, enough to damn myself in the eyes of the Team and the League if they come to know.

“Die!”

And so it is done. My order reverberates, echo with their own desire to be free, and one after the other, from the closest to the farthest, their souls escape from their moorings and come toward their murderer, toward me.

They coil around me and from those destroyed beyond repair, those who are reduced to only one of their fivefold parts, I forge an armor of ghostly white for myself. From their suffering and passions and desires cut short I draw an ornate axe. The rest of the wraith’s host, understanding I won’t devour them wait around me like ghostly mist.

I warn them. I warn them what will come will perhaps force them into second death. After so much time spent in the darkness they don’t seem to care. Their only wish is pain for their murderers. Well that is a task I will be happy to oblige. Now what are they waiting for…?

“Young man! Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to eat the food of other without permission”

“Or trash their possessions.”

I turn and can’t believe my luck. The three are there, ready to be kept busy while my comrades scurry away with the real prize. The first must be the Manticore. He looks like it anyway. Impeccable clothes, black smoking and white shirt. Minus the red skin, the shaggy red hair and the three rows of teeth, you would think he’s preparing to hunt with Victorian noblemen. Still as the clothing is good, the general imitation is not. Nobody would take him for human and even children would sense something foul in him. Is that a deliberate choice or simply an impossibility to disguise his nature.

To his left, the monk seems the more human of the trio, while staying the more abhorrent. Grey frock, tonsured skull, emaciated features hiding his excesses. I smell the stench of brimstone and rotten eggs from him. I hear the shuffling of chains and the moans of the slaves. Was he human once or was that always a mask put on a concept. I hope it’s the latter. I don’t even want to begin to think about what a mortal can do to being elevated to patron saint of those who drive wealth from children. He shall die today, even the Manticore fills me with less hatred than this thin.

To the right of the Manticore, stands one with no intention to seem human except in the roughest sense. He’s an idol of broken bones and teeth clad in burnished steel covered with obscene rune and a helm fixed in an eternal scream. The air around him is thick with the threat of violence. Not fight but violence. Chaplets of skulls hang from his belt and as I look at him, I hear the melody of broken bones and whipped backs, I smell cordite and burning oil. What are you representing exactly creature? What concept will, perhaps, lose its representative this day. I decide to provoke them.

“Excuse me misters” I say with the most un-sorry tone I ever had: “I just wanted to know what would happen if I brought all these children to their proper destinations.”

“This was their proper destination” roar the Manticore “they bargained with us and were ours by right”

“I’m sorry sir Core.” I continue “but the gods are very cross with all your thieving and feeding on the gardens of the dead and sent me put things in order” Beat. “I hope you will be very good little monsters and help me dismantle the rest of the thing.”

For a moment fear fight with greed in their eyes. For a moment they fear the gods’ revenge upon them and think to cut their losses. I back away in a patch of shadows, ready to mantle Anpu as soon as they make a move. I don’t have to wait long for they quickly decide they are man, or monsters I suppose, enough to take the gods if they come from me.

The Manticore takes its true form. A great lion with blood-red fur and paler skin with a human face and the tail of a great scorpion waving in the air. Its teeth break bones; none has ever healed of its venom. It lies with the whole of its being while its jaws close on your soul. In the shadows I’m still smiling while I uncrumple a sheet of paper in my hands.

It has its portrait, its description and its title on it.


	49. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 7

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 7  
THE HOUSE BETWEEN THE WORLDS, FAERIE?  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

There is a principle common to almost all schools of magic: The image of a thing is symbolically this thing. All that affects the image affects what was represented and vice-versa. One could force his portrait to bear the burdens of old age in his place while piercing the heart of a doll containing a lock of hair will provoke the death of the person to which the hair belongs. It’s a law as ancient as the one saying you should fear faerie’s gifts or that to know the name of a thing is often to master it.

So even the Manticore feels fear when I brandish a page bearing its image to its mannish face. I don’t smile anymore but my words are merry as I hold perhaps its destruction in my hands.

“Don’t move, please. I’m sure none of you want to know what happens if I tear up this parchment.” It recoils, sting raised to better to strike me down at a moment notice. I stay calm despite my fears. “Do you want to test if I’m quick enough to make you pierce your own image with your sting? Tell me. What would happen? Would you collapse in a pile of sand? Or just crawl away in agony?” The other two don’t make a sound. They hesitate. Killing a colleague, even by simple mistake, is something you want to avoid.

I look beyond them to try to see where my comrades are up to. What I see makes my skin crawl. Tim managed to slip away from them and is trying to run to my position. The two others are after him. I don’t exactly begrudge them for losing sight of a determined magician but still. Kid Flash is now running at full speed, eager to catch the foolish child while Robin is following in the shadows. That changes everything! My initial plan was to distract-the three monsters until they escaped and then hope for the best. Now I must kill all three of them or at least pray they can help me kill them.

Teenagers!

I don’t let any of this show on my face. Show any weakness to a beast and it will devour you. I’m still holding the page like a crucifix in a vampire movie but they will reach a decision before long. What can I do? What can I do? I calm myself. No need to cry over spilled milk. Tearing the page for the Manticore, make the Monk taste justice, and fight the giant monster to monster. Yes I can do that. Now if only I’m lucky.

“We are in an impasse” growls the Manticore. “This page’s destruction while painful to me will not bring my death. And once you’ve destroyed it, you have no protection against us.” I don’t know if he’s bluffing but there’s something more than simple pain holding him back. Perhaps that if I tear the page up, it will only wound him but if it’s hit by his envenomed claws or the spells of the Monk or the blades of the giant, it will have a much greater effect. Still I have nothing to lose by using the weapon I have.

I cut the page cleanly on the edge of my axe. The effects are immediate. The Manticore howls as deep gashes appear at the middle of his monstrous body. It was right for it doesn’t die but the pain seems horrendous and he prowl quickly behind his companions. Still to see his fur matted with his own poisoned blood was a sight I’ll be sure to take to the underworld.

I mantle Anubis in an instant. My body shifts like quicksilver becoming bigger and stronger as my own biases influence this form. I’m entirely covered in fur. My face is a black jackal’s covered by a white cloth. My axe shifts with me to a spear with a sickle’s looking blade. I’m tall but thin, all in leathery muscle and parched skin. Strider in silence to protect tombs and bring the dead to justice.

I howl and the dead howl with me, a scream mighty enough to cast the human-looking monk in a display case, ending his course in broken glass and destroyed specimens. I lunge on the giant and my blade meet his skin. It rings like steel on steel while in absolute silence he tries to seize me by the throat. Gouts of burning oil and molten metal drip from his claws and they burn as they graze my flesh, still I persevere and, holding my spear downward then upward, opening him from crotch to gizzard and letting flow a burning blood.

In another room Tim cuts himself on a Batarang. Why the hell Robin gave him that? Remembering that magic answers need, he anoints one of the displays, a sort of unicorn, with his blood while whispering a remembered name. More intelligent than I thought. Robin and Kid Flash arrive in the room as all begins to break in many bright colors. A cat observes the lot.

The monk has risen again and he begins incantations. Forgotten spells inscribed on tomb-golds, investment of demonic might, gifts given by the darkest of spirits. I amend what I said earlier, I want ot know this one’s history. He hurls lightning at me, fire and ice but its goal is to shackle me in elemental bonds. I laugh at the thought while turning my attention to him.

“Your sorcery is made for enslaving pitiful children far from their true potential, to deceive and to tempt. What can you do against me demon, me who bears the might of the gods?”

I jump on him and swipe his head with my clawed hand. Blood and worms flows from the wound. I cannot be defeated by the likes of them. I can’t be defeated in this form. They are monsters, ancient and canny but this is not like the hunts they are accustomed to. I’m not a child lost in the labyrinth to be lured into their lair and disposed without a thought. I... I…

The Manticore is stealthier than anything this size has any right to be, its claws scratch my skin just a little as I dodge but a scratch is all it needs for the venom to take effect. It won’t kill me yet but agony still enters my skin. So if it’s finished. Let’s go down fighting, shall we.

I doubt these halls have ever seen such a battle. Three ancient monsters, I now can name: The rage that entices, the plague that gnaws at belief, the drive of the old to profit from youth against a demigod avatar of the jackal-god. Claws, broken bones blade and spells against divine weapons, each of our blow finishing to destroy the contents of the room. Little by little I lose ground but none of my opponents is unharmed and all sports deep wounds worthy of being remembered.

Tim has lived to his future title and opened a gate to bring him to safety. None here to witness what I’m planning to do. None to witness what magic I’m about to craft. The Manticore I can kill with only the price of my own life. The giants I cannot name can be broken and its elements dispersed with some pain. The monk though, to my eyes he’s an avatar of the very concept he represents. Kill him and another will rise to take his place and fulfill his role. Fitting the one I want the most to destroy is the one I shouldn’t kill.

The dance draws to a close and the Manticore is driven to a last error. The great monster tries despite its wounds rise his tail for a last blow. I don’t dodge and let the full strength of the great envenomed sting deeply pierce my body. A smile across my bloodied lips. A strike of my blade and the tail is cut and the monster recoils with a great scream. I laugh as I show it the new weapon in my left hand.

Its own dart, still dripping with venom none can cure.

I charge them in a desperate attempt and such is the strength of my assault they can’t resist being scratched by my two weapons. The giant’s carcasse rots and rusts under the venom. The manticore great body quakes and twists as I slash his mannish face and sees what was human in him disappear in a flow of acid. The monk I force to his knees as he’s the last.

The house is crumbling around us with the earth and the sky and all. Two of its masters are dead and gone so all crumble. My body will soon follow suit but I see all gates are open, so I won’t have to languish here when all will end. The blade in my hand is now a sickle, perfect for what I’m to do.

My first blows are to the sinews, ensuring he cannot walk or even crawl his way out of here. My voice is charged with all I can muster of my master lordship upon justice, to make the bindings I make holy in the sight of the gods.

“I name you paralyzed! Never again shall you touch the hearts of men.”

I sense his grunts echo through the melody of the universe and think. On one level these bindings will hold this creature fast but what will their effects be on his followers. Will slavers reconsider their acts? Will they make mistakes and thus be caught. I’m binding an appointed representative of a concept here. The consequences will be momentous even if the concept is awfully narrow.

“I name you blind! Unable to see the path out of this prison, never again to look in greed on the world”. And my blade work make my words true.

“I name you mute. Never again your voice will be listened by anyone.” And his tongue is burned out of his mouth.

I mutilate his extremities and defile his face. I sing with my own suffering and his victims’. It takes the last of my strength but I speak for the divine with my last words.

“For a thousand years and a day I bind you here with chains made of your companions’ flesh, in a cage built from your companions’ bones. Thus speaks the gods.”

His bloody face is the last thing I see before the mantle of Anubis falls from my tired shoulders and I’m left to the agony of the Manticore’s venom, before the cage I made in one of the glades of Faerie.


	50. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 8

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 8  
HAUDH AN BAUGLIR THE SLAVER’S MOUND, FAERIE  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

The hill is bare and brown, parched earth and red sand. Nothing to obscure the prison I built here. The bars are bones joined to a monstrous skull that could have been human. The prisoner has no place to sit and thus must stand, broken bones on broken bones, twists in the flesh laid bare for all to see. He has nothing to hide now. His face is marred by the sword and acid and thus is a nightmare of scars to behold. His eyes are bleeding, always bleeding in long tears that makes the ground sterile. His mouth is stitched shut with silver thread. His arms and legs are pierced and unusable. He can’t shift shape, becomes mist or fade away for the bars and the chains and the runes will hold him fast until the centuries have passed.

Even as I twist and shakes and send my limbs in all directions and none I feel joy when I gaze upon my handiwork. As long as he is imprisoned here, with no eyes to gaze on the world, with no tongue to tempt the unwary, with no limbs to go to evil deeds, the world is safe from at least one great evil. Even if I die, which is the most probable outcome, scratch that, the most desirable outcome here, he will remain bound until the reign of my masters’ is forgotten. I have done my parts. So why…?

So why masters do you persist in this agony? Why my life didn’t fall from my shoulders with the mantle of Anpu? I would be free then, at peace and not suffering this! The venom is no ordinary poison. It is fire burning my flesh in fever. It is cold freezing my bones in multiple shards. It is pain rising with me with each beat of my frantic hearth. It is everything that scratches, burns and gnaws at man and worse.

It is the shame of every deed you’ve done surging through the expanses of your mind. It is sentient in a way, seeking your darkest secrets to parade before your mind. Like the creature itself, it is a thing of eating, of devouring, it gnaws at each fiber of your being until only pain and despair remain. I could appreciate the sheer artistry of such a vicious thing but I’m a little too busy suffering to really care.

The mist of ghosts I freed is still around me, bent to their savior, unable to do anything. I can’t do anything more for them as my flesh still imprisons my soul. Then perhaps the time will come when I will shepherd the dead one last time. For the moment they can only gaze, glassy eyes and sore throats, some of them perhaps remembering they died of the same poison.

I dimly hear the shuffling of many feet and my eyes are clouded with shadows. I don’t make the faces of those involved, just shades of colors, green and orange and blue and the copper tones of skin. They have come. They have found me. I hear them whispering. Or are they talking aloud and I can’t hear them anymore. I seem to piece my comrade’s voices. Asking the monarchs to heal me? Not in this life boys. Against serpent’s bite and scorpion’s sting there are simples of great virtue to be plucked with the waning of the moon. Against nyss’ breath and basilisk gaze there are spells to be sung and potions to be brewed. Against the Manticore’s venom, no cure was made by the daughters of men, no cure was wrought by the arts of the Fae. For the beast with the face of a man is poison viler than the serpent king’s.

There are demands to be made with the last of my breath. I gesture to the faerie monarchs and grumble through shaking teeth and short breath:

“Saved…Son…Give…Peace.” The words fall me but they understand. A knife is drawn, my comrades scream their disagreement, someone speaks words of peace, someone, Tamlin, bends in the direction of my face. Swiftly they strike, ripping my throat apart.

My last breath is a long litany of unheard thanks.

I rise from pain. I rise through pain, forsaking my body like a used mantle. I rise whole and Vergil rise in my shadows amidst the sea of ghosts. Gods they are so many and they are so young. Where will I deliver then before following the power in me to the marshes of Duat? After what was visited upon them, they deserve the best afterlife I can lead them to, even if they had the souls of snakes while they were alive. Alas I can’t bend the rules in their favor. Not yet. Still I can follow them.

I gaze upon them with the eyes of a judge, appraising their thoughts, their deaths and their origins. Then one after the other I invite them to take my hand and be sent to their proper place.

The oldest are the easiest for they worshipped the gods when they were on Earth. So I send them where they’ll expect to be. The others are trickier. There are warriors among them, most of them indeed. They fought the monsters in their lair and paid the price for their defiance. Still they died in battle and so desserve to be brought where the warriors are. I ask them if they still want to battle the enemies of creation. Those who answer yes I send either to the House of the Left to defend the sun, or to Valhalla where they will fight the last battles. Those who are tired of conflict I send to dim Hades, by the river Lethe that brings forgetfulness to all weary souls. The youngest and weariest of them, I recommend to Naraka to be delivered to a new existence along the wheel of life. To dread Irkallu, shadowy Mictlan, rotten Metnal, to the House Down Under the frigid seas and to the other places of darkness I send none for none among them deserve the long wait in the dark.

Some of them of Egyptian birth or chosen by the gods of the Two Lands I bring with me as I follow my own way down the world. To Duat and its green-skinned lord. To Duat where the forty-two judges await us and the two-score gods await us.


	51. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 9

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 9  
DUAT, THE UNDERWORLD  
July 17 2010: 11:00PM

I go into Duat without rites nor prayers, accompanied only by a handful of children. My eyes are closed; my mouth is shut. None sat over my corpse to say the prayers, none broke the seals death has affixed on my openings. No breath lives in my lungs, no gods watch over my organs, no beats disturb the stillness of my heart. Yet we are not there to be broken down and flung into the maw of the Devourer just because nobody remembers the proper rites or the children’s bodies became ashes and dust. The very gods take care of that for us.

We are borne by the herd of Anpu. Great jackals drag the sledge our corpses have been put. Great jackal-headed servants bear on their shoulders the shells our souls long to escape. They bring us to their father and master, in the great halls at the beginning of the path where sits the guardians of the land of the dead and all gods made for the care of mortal bodies. We ae silent as the uncut stones when they bring us to the slabs of preparation and make us lie there awaiting the great ones.

I feel no pain as they rip my side to reach my innards. No pain when they break my nose to let the brain flow like water on the ground. They take my organs and listen to their witness. They break open the pathways of my flesh and anoint me with water and scented oil and myrrh. They replace what they have taken by jewels and gold and organs of eternity. Still I’m disjointed, the parts of my soul are in disarray and the parts of my body war against each other and I don’t understand why. They separate us from our bodies and Anpu god of the necropolis will guide us through the gates and the paths. Our bodies will await us at the end of the journey.

I have read a little of the Book but not enough to know how to pass the gates and enter the Hall of Two Truths. My companions though knew the texts and they teach me on the way. They tell me about the rites, about the spells, about the names, about all that enable a man to live for eternity and preserve his soul from the Devourer’s jaws. So we follow the god without fear, through sand and marsh and river and blood. Our forms change to accommodate the gods we channel. Our forms change to pass obstacles and fight enemies and declare our will to not die the second death to demons and nightmares. Anpu guides us as he has promised, giving us names, protecting us in his great shadow, until we are ready to walk alone on the two paths.

First is the path of flame where our feet hurt and our souls ache. For we pass the gates with great pain as each guardian is entitled to a tribute from those who have sinned against them. I lose my tongue at the fourth gate and my eyes at the seventh and must wait long in the fires for the leave of the guardians to continue my road to final judgement.

Second is the path of deep water where we are on boat and fight the monsters of the world. Crocodiles, hippopotamuses and lions and great snakes try to drag us in the depths but we resist. Voices try to tempt us from the path but we do not stray. We walk through mud and reeds while answering riddles about the powers of the worlds and the torments promised to those whose voice proves untrue. Near us, the boat of the sun sails along the way and we mount it.

How much time do I spend in this journey? I cannot say but at the darkest hour of the night, just before Ra can sail through the heavens, Apep the great serpent bars our way. We struggle. We fight with the gods, each of us dead exclaiming: “I am Mii and I protect the light of day!” We curse the serpent with words of power, we strike him with knives and burn him with holy fire. He relents at last, as he relents each day the gods made and we can come ashore in the Hall of Two Truths.

I see the gods there. Osiris whose skin is like emerald, who holds the crook and the flail and rule over all the dead of this Outermost West. Isis and Nephtys are there too, dark of night and stars burning bright. Anpu turns toward us and in his approach we see the forty-two outlines of the great judges and all the gods observing.

“Hail to you Lord of Justice! I have come here my Lord to worship you and gaze upon your perfection.” The ritual formula flows like water from my mouth, this one I knew and remembered. “I know your name and those of the forty-two assessors, gods who are with you in this room of Justice. I stand before you purified of all faults. For I did the will of the gods when I was on Earth.” How to describe what happened next? How to describe the forms of the Judges who will remain hidden peering our souls for sins to punish and finding none we didn’t confess on the way here? Still they grumbled at my approach. Yet the judgement was not their to give.

Their lord and mine spoke then for our hearts have been found lighter than the feather of Maat who is set upon justice. He spoke but not to me but to those I brought in this place.

“YOUR VOICES ARE TRUE. YOU ARE WELCOME IN MY KINGDOM EVEN IF YOUR NAMES AND BONES HAVE NOT SURVIVED IN THE WORLD.” And thus they were brought to the palaces prepared for the justified dead. As for me.

“KNOW THAT YOUR VOICE IS TRUE BUT YOU HAVE NOT YET EARNED REST. KNOW YOU SHARE IN OUR IMMORTALITY AND WE’LL SEND YOU BACK INTO THE WORLD.” He makes a gesture of his scepters and my shade is transported in my body at his feet. Yet there is no pain. For the moment at least.

“IF YOUR FLESH SHOULD FAILS YOU, YOUR SPIRIT WILL FLY TO US AND WE WILL RENEW IT. THIS IS OUR COVENANT.”

There is no pain and only numbness for Wadjet and Bouto who were affixed to Pharaoh’s crown rise from the ground and bite me to the neck. Thus the poison in me go to them who consume it in holy fire. The gods descend from their thrones and remake my body. Min stiffen my legs, Anpu straighten my spine and so on and so on. For a moment I float in the ether with the body of the gods, my spine the pillar that holds creation, my eyes the eyes of Ra who behold the world in wrath. They remake my body in gold and ivory and marble and sandstone. Then Isis and Nephtys mourn for me before breathing life in my lungs and clothing me in flesh.

“GO NOW OUR SERVANT FOR DAWN IS COME AND RA IS BORN AGAIN. NUT BIRTHS OUR FATHER AND THE HEAVENS ARE RED WITH HER BLOOD. GO AND BE REBORN WITH THE MORNING SUN.”

And thus it was said and thus it was done according to their will.,


	52. Interlude: Council

Interlude: Council  
SOMEWHERE, ELSEWHERE  
SOMEWHEN

This place was full of fiery storms and icy breaths, full of lost spirits eaten away by remorse and envy, full of demons gigantic yet pathetic. Outcroppings of many-colored flames with aquiline eyes and improbable claws. Mountains of rot whose miasma laugh with fathering affection while shaking and shivering with its own corruption. Rivers of blood springing from the eyeless gazes of a skull mountain whose master howls with insatiable hunger. Gracile fantasies so beautiful they provoke horror, quick to embrace and quick to mar, trapped between pain and pleasure. Great temples to the self laid toppled on the ground, mutilated sculptures and hammered frescoes bearing silent witness of the devastation that was still happening. For now the face of the gods was firmly placed on all stones and the mark of the gods firmly imprinted in the very fabric of this mind.

Surprisingly, or not for who knows the old tales, all of the participants to this gathering had done more terrible and strangest things than holding council in one of their servants’ battered mind. This was their right, granted when the young man had surrendered himself to their touch and accepted to wield their power. At this instant the gods had drawn him from the race of mortals to transform him in a shape more fitting for their purposes. They have not been proud of that for they were not as today’s mortals imagined them, evil and rapacious lords of darkness. Mutilating a soul even in the name of granting their vassal more power and erasing the taint carried in his frightful flight through Tartarus, was not a task easily justifiable.

Yet they were the gods and the gods are beyond the mortal laws they embody and define. No sin was too grievous in their great quest, no act too abhorrent. They acted for the sake of the universe. No they didn’t regret what they had done. Some part of them deemed the whole act of scurrying the gaps in their high priest’s mind like loathsome worms in a rotten apple demeaning but the importance of meeting in a neutral ground outweighed such petty concerns.

On one side stood, child-devouring Moloch, the Lord of Mictlan, earth-shattering Yum Cimil and one-eyed Odin. On the other stood viridian-skinned Osiris, Hades the Rich, all-destroying Shiva and earth-bearing Zam. At the center, not speaking except when spoken to, shapeshifting Vergil Messenger to the Messenger, ready to receive and transmit orders.

They were not by far the only gods to have granted this one power and prestige but they were the most at odds. The other members of their endeavor washed their hands of the whole affair, judging the status-quo satisfying for the moment. The debate had one and only object: What directives give to their champion? What acts should be found pleasing or displeasing? Where was he going to do next? That was it. Their quarrel was not better and no worse than some highborn senators deciding the destination of their next ambassadors.

Still they were gods and their speech was great waters fallng and thunder roaring and dragons fighting. Their arguments scarred the mindscape with storms and flood and chaos. On one level they debated as mortals do. On another they tried to drown each other in music. On yet another they fought in their terrible radiance. Had their servants not slept the sleep of the dead he would have gone mad from the sensation for there are things mortal minds, even expanded as his was, can’t support without being sundered and lost to the abyss.

So spoke vine-bodied Osiris lord of Duat as his servant dreamt dreams of growing cut short and treacherous brothers.

“I SEE NO POINT IN AMENDING THE BOY’S ORDERS. HE DESTROYED THE MANTICORE AND LORD STEEL AND IMPRISONED THE PRIEST OF GREED FOR A THOUSAND YEARS. HE SAVED THE OPENER AND HIS SACRIFICE MARKED HIS MIND. HE SERVES US WELL AS IT IS, BEING PART OF THE HEROES OF THIS WORLD AND BANE OF MONSTERS.”

So answered Moloch of Carthage called Baal-Hammon with his wings and his head shaped like a raging bull. So answered Moloch of Carthage with the same thunderous music his priests offered children to his fires with.

“HE SERVES US WELL, YES. STILL IT’S NOT WHAT WE WERE PROMISED WHEN WE JOINED YOU IN THIS ENDEAVOUR. YOU PROMISED WORSHIP, RETURN TO OUR ANCIENT MIGHT. I SEE NO TEMPLES IN OUR HONOR, NO SACRIFICES SMOKING ON THE ALTAR. MY VENGANCE STILL WAITS UNANSWERED!”

They are powerful the gods. They are powerful and yet they often are no better than the mortals they claim lordship on. They fight, love, trick each other with so much pleasure you are surprised none of them died in their long eclipse from the mortal plane. Still the words of Moloch ring true at their ears. Fire burns the plants grown by Osiris, leaving only ashes and cinders while the god continues his speech.

“THIS ONE WILL NEVER OFFER FROM THE THROAT OF OTHERS THE BOUNTY WE CRAVE. I RECOGNIZE THAT AND BOW TO THE WILL OF THE MAJORITY OF THE COUNCIL. STILL I WON’T BE GAINSAID. HE WILL OFFER ME VENGEANCE.”

Cautious, with a voice like the breaking of stones, Hades the unseen takes his turn with no fear of fire. Of those who sit here, he’s the most abused by mortals with the least reasons for never has he asked for human offerings or lusted on the thrones of his brothers. Still he stands not with the cabal of discontents who want their vassal to build their temples anew when he could watch for escapees of dread Tartarus instead.

“HARSH AND TIGHT IS THE LEASH OF THE NEW GODS OF THIS EARTH AND HE HASN’T YET THE POWER TO BRAVE THEM. YET HE CAN MAKE MANKIND WORSHIP US AGAIN. WOULD THAT SATE YOUR HUNGER OLD FRIENDS.”

For a moment, there is calm as the gods ponder the future and try to divine its twisted path. What Hades is proposing is a compromise all could get behind. There is a divide between those who saw their worship cease mostly naturally and those whose followers were cut short by invaders, destroyed by disease or fled from the wrath of the Name. Blood must flow to grease the gears of the universe and it was so long some gods haven’t received their share. What a servant meant for them was the return of their worship, the return of a time they were great. Still hate demands sacrifices and satisfaction from a source, any source. So Moloch is not finished and spoke for the rest of his brethren.

“WE ACCEPT BUT WE AMEND THAT. HE WILL HEAR OUR CALLS TO WORSHIP BUT HE WILL TAKE OUR SERVANTS FROM THE HERD OF THE ONE WHO CAST US DOWN IN THE FIRST PLACE. LET HIM KNOW THAT THOSE WHO CRY HIS NAME THE LOUDEST WLL BE THE MOST PLEASING OFFERINGS TO US.”

The gods still confer after that. They talk of their servant, the ark they made to shelter themselves, the seed they sowed in the green fields of Earth, the hands and the eyes and the voices of those who can’t yet affect the world. They instruct Vergil in their orders, more precise and more stringent while considering the possibilities. They talk about the Opener and the many manners in which he can be used for good or ill. They talk of all and nothing when disappear in their home realms to watch and plot.

For what is a channeler if not the gate to the realms of the gods? And can’t a gate be opened to let free what lie behind?


	53. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 10

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 10  
HAUDH AN BAUGLIR THE SLAVER’S MOUND, FAERIE  
July,18,2010, 08:00 AM

Even without eyes I see them gather at the foot of the hill.

I am. I don’t know what exactly I am. I would be tempted to say: “I’m the Ka, the double that dies not but receives the offerings at the tomb’s door” but this is not what the gods promised. I’m a ghost seeking to reenter the flesh, I’m a wraith restless that seeks the body he was promised. I am driven, pushed by the winds of the world beyond to this place and, for a moment, I let my eyes rejoice in the view for my pride is content.

On the hill stands a great castle of black stone with barred gates and windows, with traps and curses on every lock. It has been built overnight by the spells of Oberon and Titania, monarchs over the fae. In the center stand the cage I made and its prisoner. I’m happy to see the fairies take threat to their kingdom and children very seriously. I sense seven layers of dreadful death and misfortune over this building, enough to discourage even the bravest goblin or redcap. Some would call these precautions useless but I thank the majesties of the fair land to have taken them. None should underestimate the enemies of mankind.

Before the gates stands what makes my pride swell in my heart with a vengeance. For it is I immortalized in sculpture, my traits gazing on the land with eyes of cold stone. They have represented me stepping on the broken form of the Manticore, the deadly sting still in my hand. The bones of the great giant of violence are scattered around. Looking upon this man of marble, I see they put on his breast the ankh symbol of Death, signifying my allegiance to all knowledgeable folks. The writing on the pedestal I can’t read but I understand it celebrates my victory. Tim and the others are represented also, indeed Tim is depicted as younger than he is and holding the hands of my comrades while they make gestures of warding with their free hands. A unicorn and a hawk are engraved on the pedestal, bearing halos and pecking the corpses on the ground with unaccustomed delight. At least our efforts are recognized and my sacrifice…

Was it really a sacrifice, considering I’m about to be resurrected? I would say yes for the agony of the venom and the pains of the paths of Duat were harsh. I would say no for isn’t it a poor sacrifice than the sacrifice who can be done over and over for the centuries to come with only one victim?

I’m driven to see the gathering. It is reasonably huge with most fairies of note in attendance. Besides the monarchs and their falconer, I see Cluracan, Puck and other creatures of legend. They sup on flowers’ juice, meat of animals not found on earth and faerie wine. Around those who are humans in size flutter the swarm of winged humanoid I summoned to tend my garden back at the cave. I don’t need to hear them to understand what it is happening. I have already been to funeral wakes after all.

Sitting at a close table, I see the League and some members of the Team. Strange how quickly they gathered but then again for all they know their comrade died. To be perfectly honest, that’s completely true. I did die even if I got better. Still to see them munching earth food, to see Batman, Red Tornado and Wonder woman trying to strike a conversation while sometimes going to speak to Oberon and Titania make my heart tingle. I did not warn Kid Flash and Robin or my gamble nor of my faith the gods would raise me from the dead for I didn’t want to let them hope in vain if I failed. They didn’t play heroes rather than doing their mission and thus avoided at least two more deaths. This is something to be proud of, not sad and I smile on incorperal lips while I fly around them.

That shan’t be long now. Dawn breaks on the eastern horizon and the gods said I would be risen with the morning sun, while the sky was drenched in the blood of his birth. Now it is the moment.

I’m surprised to be not dragged toward the monument but in the black earth of Faerie where mortal dreams are like seeds. For a terrible moment I sense myself pressed by the weight of the earth, thinking I would dwell there forever but that pass. Instead I’m driven up as a sprout to the rays of the dawning sun.

I can’t really describe what is happening for I have the impression of many things rushing and running at the same time. On one level I feel like a great oak working the work of centuries in a minutes, shaping and sculpting itself like a man yet still living until the sap turns to blood and I emerge from the sleep of death. On another I feel like a massive flower, perhaps a lotus appears from the earth and deploy his petals like a broken egg revealing the body within. On yet another I sense vine sculpting limbs and hands, making me a living body with the living matter of the universe. Perhaps the three are true in a way, proof of the mastery of my lords on all growing things.

Still I rise, not naked fortunately but in the ritual garb of an Egyptian priest. My eyes are underlined with kohl. I wear the leopard skin of the high priests and the white linen robe of the celebrants. In my hand is the was, the serpent-headed scepter brandished by the gods on the temples’ walls. The air is sweet on my new skin, my voice hoarse in my new lungs. But I live again and I thank the gods that gave me life everlasting.

I smile to my comrades but my first obligations are neither to them, to my mentors or even to Tim. No circumstances allow a guy to forget the laws of hospitality, especially in Faerie. So I advance through elf-lords and Aes Sidhe and I kneel before the king and queen of the Fair Folk while filling my lungs with the winds of the land where none grows old.

“Hail Majesties. You have the greetings of the gods that dwell under the sea, to the west and beyond light, sea and wind. They remember you fondly and would like to see you again.”

For some that could have sounded like a jest or even a bitter mockery. It’s not. Fairies are kin to barrows and the dead since time immemorial. And in the dreams that followed my ascent from Duat I have received instructions to renew this kinship.

It is more than time enchantment returned to the world after all.


	54. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 11

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 11  
PALAELIN THE SEEING LAKE, FAERIE  
July,18,2010, 08:00 AM

Knowledge is a sweet and bitter fruit but better to know something even if it mars your mind than to remain in ignorance.

It has always been my philosophy. You have the right to advocate for truly horrid things but you have no right to be shielded from the knowledge of what your actions or opinions provoked. Thus when fair Titania crowned with ivy offered me a boon to repay the saving of her son, I choose to know the consequences of my act. Even if it is an awful one, I still have maimed and imprisoned the avatar of a concept and must not remain ignorant of the consequences. Nor can the League judge my brutality without knowing what resulted. Not that they take any haste in doing so. Demons and elementals are not subject to the same rules of engagement people are.

Still that led us, Wonder Woman, Red Tornado and me, Batman remaining to ensure none of my comrades suck on a berry from fairyland, to this place that, according to the fairies is an oracle. It’s a well on an island, in the middle of a crystal blue lake. A mirror is suspended on an ancient wall besides the well. The symbolism is nice and all but I would have perfectly done without the fairytale imagery. Then, we are in the fair lands, so that can’t be exactly be helped with. With Diana’s approbation I pull a bucket of water from the well and sprinkle it on the ruined mirror while singing.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall! Of what transpired of what I’ve done, reveal us all!” And the mirror changes its surfaces to let us see, hear and feel what happened while I bound the monk to his dismal prison for ten human lifetimes.

Destruction of the Endless, gods above the gods, said one day to his brother Dream that a coin has always two faces and thus the prince of destruction was also responsible for creation. He was right for when I struck the slaver down, his demise influenced both those who worshipped him without knowing and those who suffered at the hands of his worshippers or opposed them. The two were affected with similar but contrasting effects and I can’t help but be content in that knowledge.

When I deprived the monk of movement and dragged his sinews out of his flesh, many slavers lost their movement and forgot the places where they wanted to go. Their roads became twisted and many lost their chance to acquire new merchandise for they were late. Some of the worst let their steps guide them to ruin and dangerous places where nature took them. By contrast many of their slaves found in their hearts the courage to run away. The hunters were swift on the trail and many of the slavers who fled their haunts were caught.

When I blinded the monk and gouged his eyes out of his orbits, the sight of many slavers was impaired and thus many of their escapees were not caught. Strangely enough the effect ran from the very physical blinding of some of the worst offenders, to a simple obscuring of the mind causing them to lose attention and misremember details. By contrast, the eyes of those who hunt slavers of all stripes suffered no obstruction and many things that were hidden were revealed.

And when I put out his tongue and sealed his lips shut, so too many slavers’ speech failed them. Their voices did not serve them to convince families to part with unwanted children or runaways to trust and confide in them, their orders were misunderstood and their defenses weak. The arguments of their defenders were found wanting and their corruption revealed. On the contrary, the words of their victims were listened to and believed and understood. Laws were conceived in the minds of statesmen, omens were seen in the dreams of sorcerers, speeches were listened to.

For as the avatar is cast down, so does his purview diminish weakening the avatar further until the concept disappear completely. Killing one avatar is much less efficient for the shock lasts only for a terrible moment. Many slavers and pimps and sweatshops owner would I have killed if I killed the monk but many more are now without movement, sight and speech, sometimes literally.

So when I gaze upon my work, I deem it good.

Behind me Red Tornado is thinking so loud I can hear gears turning. What he’s calculating? How many I saved albeit indirectly or how many I maimed? In any case I’m proud as peacock even if I try to hide it I’ve dealt a blow to crime, normal crime not the acts of some insane guys in tights wanting to raze cities, stronger than any dealt by the Justice League in a single strike. Without even counting what supernatural slavers rings he was directly operating. And the noxious creature is in my hands, well in secure hands anyway, which means I can experiment on it and see if I can unravel his concept even further.

Diana is also pensive but I sense she’s supportive. She’s no stranger to harsh justice and must understand I had no idea what maiming the monk would do. Still the League can’t condone actions which result in permanent mutilations for ordinary humans. Still no action has no drawbacks.

Vergil’s intervention, the first since my resurrection drag me from my reverie while I walk with the heroes on the green roads of Faerie. He seems nearly ashamed in his tone, which doesn’t make comfortable at home.

“I’ve talked with the gods while we were in Duat.” So what? I hope I have clearer instructions if they want me to please them. “They did but I understand from your mind they will be problematic.” Ok now I’m worried, so what gives? “One faction of our masters desire you continue to hunt monsters and train your team to deal with divine related troubles. They also want you find someone able to become the champion of another group of gods.” Ok the second one is not easy but that shouldn’t be too problematic, grooming a member of the team or even a willing mortal supplicant to undergo the same transformation as me is possible. The most difficult thing in this is not knowing which group of gods want a champion. So what wants the other faction?

“They want you to subvert churches of the Abrahamanic religion to their worship.”

The string of blasphemous oaths I let flow from my mouth while hearing that makes Diana look at me with amusement. They want what? There is no way in hell the League will let me use my powers for that. I still must ask though, and do what the gods demand. But that will make me end on all the shitlists. Let’s see, how can I ease my burden.

“Do they want me to tempt true believers or can I prey on those who are nominally religious?”

“The gods want the subversion of those who claim the names of the god that displaced them.”

So I can at least ply my trade in cults and splinter churches. Good. Cultists are guillible by nature and unlike many of their idols, I have real powers. That solves some of the morality questions for I will do good to these lost souls. Still I’m anxious when I speak to Diana, as for excuse myself of the string of insults I let escape.

“The gods’ demands are relentless. Say. What would the League position be if I converted, let’s say prominent televangelists to paganism? Or took control of one, or ten, of the myriad churches, Americans are so fond of funding every year?”

She looks at me with pity. What does she look at me like that?


	55. Episode 4: Hungers: Part 12

Episode 4: Hungers: Part 12  
HAPPY HARBOUR, RHODE ISLAND  
July,18,2010,2:00 PM

“Don’t want to rush you kids, but some of us here were dead and want to go home for a nap or three!”

The others laugh at my jab and our adversary. Well I don’t know if the artificial intelligence or the spirit that animates him can experiment frustration but I feel massive amounts of the stuff right now emanating from him. I know, I know. You are an evil robot created by a supervillain to take your prodigal brother home. You don’t find him but a bunch of kids and their caretaker. You fight them and they end up playing with you to relieve the tension of a much tenser morning. That must be hard on your poor neural circuitry., Still all fun must have its end.

“Seriously kids. I don’t know you but I’ve plenty to do this afternoon. Let’s bash this tin can and call it a day.” Robin takes the luxury of answering while dodging a blast of wind headed his way and replicating with batarangs. I nearly don’t hear him over the explosions.

“What? Got a date with this Cluracan’s guy? Need to put us to bed before going wild with fairies?”

Kid Flash is trying to be the most frustrating person for our poor robot, dodging his winds with the least efforts possible. It’s really impressive to see him move only a little and get completely out of the way. Several idents in the red metal of our robotic friend bear witness he can also pack a mean punch. Not as mean as Superboy, mind you who nearly tore one of the android’s arms before the whole team decided to go easy on the poor Mr Twister.

Seriously the guy has it coming. This Red robot, vaguely ressembling Red Tornado in looks signaled himself while we were returning from Faerie. He clamored loudly for the robotic member of the League to come and fight him. Recognizing a trap when we see one (and warned by Red Tornado that his villainous creator frequently tried to reprogram him in the 70’s), we decided to intervene. More exactly, I decided to intervene. My comrades decided to engage in a bit of “proactive stress relief” after chewing me out for hours for my sacrifice and my rebirth. These kids had it all prepared. We went to Happy Harbour without costumes as a simple group of youngster (and their beleaguered leader) then treated the whole thing as an interruption of our trip.

I have no doubt this thing is trying to contact his creator. That could have been a good strategy too if M’gann and me were not constantly scrambling the emissions. Doing that demands we don’t participate in the fight much, but the possibility for the team to play with their food was too god to ignore. Seriously look at them. Looking at their faces, that beats playing soccer by a mile. Even Aqualad is laughing a bit while he experiments with his water bearers. Another point in disfavor of the robot, he let us, well them really, herd him on the seafront and is surprised by what the Atlantean is wielding.

Looking at them all is fun in a paternalistic kind of way. Seeing the same bunch that couldn’t be relied to not impair each other in the tunnels beneath Cadmus fight as one is really refreshing. Shame it has to stop. I have really things to do, and more important things at that than chatting with a horny elf-lord, even if the experience was not so bad as it could have been. I take a sterner tone.

“Guys. Finish it. Now”

They hear me five by five. Kid Flash runs and swipe Twister off his feet before letting him be crushed by Aqualad summoned water dragon. Not one to be outstage in feat of strength, Superboy falls on his enemy, grunts as rises him from the ground and send him flying right to Robin. No Jonathan, we already talked about your non-powered comrades’ inabilities to play ball like Diana or Clark. Robin wisely avoid the flying robot butn not before leaving a cluster of grenades (I need to talk with Batman about the number of explosives Robin and him seems to routinely carry.) Before long all that remains of the Team’s first real opponent is pieces of slag metal and the…human head of its controller.

Before they register and freak out, I run to the head and examine it. Even at a cursory glance it is not human but robotic. Why in all the hells would someone create a robot body with air-manipulation and choose to put another robot in there like a mad case of Russian dolls? It cannot be for psychological warfare for Twister didn’t announce itself as a human. Well that’s a mystery for another day. I take the head with me. Kid’s Flash mentioned a trophy room in an earlier conversation and if begin to collect trophies, the head of your enemies is the best that is.

M’gann calls on her ship. While I’m a little worried to see the thing so unarmed, I understand while she would not be able to take from Mars an actual military version. It’s fascinating to see living technology at work. Living and not sentient, I briefly touched the mind’s ship with M’gann and the others and I have known dogs that were more intelligent. Still it’s most useful and enable us a mean of transport independent from the League.

While the others laugh, I let my thoughts wander. Diana and Batman will examine what the League actual policies concerning my use of my powers to convert people will be. They have told me it will be difficult as they don’t want to be embroiled in a religious war or anything like that. While the situation was much improved by my marked interest in only cultic churches I understand they don’t want to replace a bunch of cult leaders by me alone. Still they should be amenable to reason, as long as I don’t directly compel anyone.

Becoming a public figure is unavoidable with all that the gods ask of me now. So I’m preparing how to do it the most effectively. There the League is a little more practiced. Basically everything goes, so long I’m not advocating dissent or publicly endorsing a candidate or another. And that is only if Dante the superhero with the team is involved, if I build myself another identity, then anything is possible. Green Arrow is still mayor of his city, Bruce Wayne still a political player in Gotham, after all.

Another politician is a thing they have prepared for. A priest? Not so much.


	56. Chapter 56

Interlude: Reports  
THE WATCHTOWER, SPACE  
July,21,2010,5:00 PM

They were all making long face and looking pretty grim. It was understandable considering the matters that had led to this meeting. The matters that kept the League busied for three days and would keep them busy for many more in addition to their usual duties. The least one could say was that Dante had really rocked the boat. And he prepared to do more

Aquaman sighed as he dragged his face from his computer screen. He didn’t fault their young colleague for what he had done. None of the League did. Orin knew that some of his more modern friends interpreted the maiming of the demon the young hero had imprisoned as unnecessary brutality rather than a necessary addition to the binding process, but then few in the League were familiar with the necessities of magic. Still none could deny the efficiency of the method, nor its effects on the world at large. They were plain to see for any member who could read or even see.

On the flat screen of the League main council room, a map of the world was spread, filled with red and blue dots all over. After Dante and the Team returned from Faerie, the League had acted with all the speed they were able. Diana had told everyone of what she had seen in the faeries’ scrying mirror and child slavery was a serious enough crime to justify unleashing all Leagues members not otherwise occupied.

The results? Well they were plain to see on the map and explained in great part the League’s malaise. There were expected hotspots. Preconceptions or not, nobody was really shocked to see Bangkok or Holywood as great burning points on the map, albeit for some different reasons. The great dots in these U.S cities possessing superheroes were more concerning to everyone. Even Atlantean outposts and cities had their lot of hotspots, a fact that filled the king in him with deep shame and burning anger. There were questions to be answered, even more urgently than the newly revealed ambitions of the gods’ servant. Batman was speaking, his face only slightly grimmer than usual, his voice only a little bit more controlled:

“Despite the widespread nature of what we uncovered. I would want to remind you all these dots encompass a wide range of situations. If all are undoubtedly immoral they can range from individual crime to perfectly-legal oppression systems or lack of protection.” His voice was cold, professional but one whio knew him well could sense the wrath coursing beneath. “According to Dante, the entity’s purview was the financial exploitation of underage individuals. From what we saw these last three days, and with some exceptions involving disabled individuals, the effects of his bindings matter only to criminals whose victims are less than fifteen and only if the crime is committed for financial reasons.”

Neptune’s beard and still they were so many. How much more, thought Orin, would there have been if all victimizers of children were harmed? Capitain Marvel, the most naïve of the gathered heroes spoke aloud. He was one of the most shocked by the situation and Orin thought it would be good if someone had a long conversation with him. God knew seeing your first crimes could be difficult:

“I don’t understand. What more creeps could be out there? We could already take years mopping up all we found until now!”

“Some creeps share their victims, Captain” intervened Black Canary. “rather than buy or sell them, they don’t appear there because only those who worked for money do.” She paused before asking the question, in truth every member of the assembly asked: “How can we have missed that,” she pointed to the dots in the Northern American continent, “for so long?”

“Many reasons,’ pointed Batman. “The most important I think is, with some dreadful exceptions, most of these exploitative situations are very low-key, involving perhaps a dozen of people at most. Second, as I said before” he gestured to the screen and yellow dots came replace half or so the red ones, “the situations are very diverse. The yellow ones are pure financial exploitation, sweatshops, underage labor, embezzlement of funds meant for childcare and so one. Most of the time these kind of things, even in our zone of influence, barely register on our radar. We are focused with more overtly violent crimes after all. The red ones are sexual exploitation and prostitution. There again, none of us is involved in these kind of cases until a corpse is found” He paused, as if he was ashamed to mention the third reason: “Also none of our enemies deal in that area of crimes. We have to worry about bank robbers, mad scientists, serial killers, not pimps or slavers. With some exception of course” he added looking at Orin.

That at least resolved the question on how the League had missed a major area of crime in their own backyard. There were other reasons of course going through everyone’s head. The League was a reactive organization that reacted to crimes being committed and discovered and they had their hands full enough with that to investigate other areas. There were also priorities to be revised, at least for some of them. From what Orin knew of the Flash’s Rogues, arresting these dofuses while they robbed banks could very well be the least good use of the speedster’s time. Of course there were also the problem pointed by Superman himself, pointing at the blue dots on the screen.

“We must also decide what to do with these gray cases. While these people,” faces filled the screen, mostly CEOS “are at the head of companies whose subsidiaries benefit from child labor, they are legally not responsible for the acts of their employees.” Orin smiled while remembering Dante’s comments on the subject. It was a mix of “don’t care if it’s legal, let them know you know and put the fear of God in them” and “you know journalists, ruin their reputation, drag their name in the mud.” He really did not like the rich.

The reunion continued on that topic for two more hours before they could accost the difficult subject it tied to. Orin looked with appreciation to the file Dante’s sent on his plea to be allowed to proselytize openly to the masses and take some cults for his own. He had at least ensured the churches he mentioned being interested in subverting were as unsympathetic as they could be. It was the Martian Manhunter who spoke first, not very surprising considering Dante’s links with his niece:

“While I don’t know if we can allow him to preach to borderline violent groups at these ones, people are beginning to notice something is amiss. While I was flying over the world with Superman, we heard and saw many crowds spontaneously going to the local altars and embrace religion. A part of the population of the world know the events of this week are not just dumb luck.” He considered his words carefully: “I think, at least in places with the worst concentration of offenders, he could be easily declared god over children’s protection without much problems if he brought the proof he was responsible”

“He provided a summary of the doctrine he wants to preach” added Diana. “There is nothing inherently vile in it, except perhaps a denunciation of material riches a little bit more inflammatory than needed?” She went further into the file: “And a bit of bias in favor of homosexuality as a godlier way to love. But considering the crowd he intends to preach to, I think he wants to be sure his message of equality sticks.”

“The main problem is self-defense” chimed Superman in. “He wants to be authorized to bless those who follow him and curse those who would mistreat them. I understand the religious precedents of such a thing but we can’t allow him to avenge his followers by his lonesome without going to the authorities”

Yes, that was the main point of contention the League found. And with reason. Dante was very overt in his reflections on using food and health as bait for new worshippers, or his thoughts on what he was authorized to do to those who would harm his followers. The file expanded on some ways to completely wreck a community without even killing anyone directly. Blighting crops, cursing non-believer to mischance, spitefully outing every secret in the town. There were acts the League couldn’t condone.

But that was just a matter of adjustment really. They knew they would allow him to operate, with restrictions of course. It would have been severely hypocritical of them not to.


	57. Interlude: Cult

Interlude: Cult  
GOTHAM CITY NEW JERSEY  
July,20,2010,10:00 PM

Some would have called him horrid to look at. A sack of bones and a bloody skull. Royal vestments soaked in grime and lice, befouled with the pus going between his bones. His eyes were dark as jewels and his mouth fixed in a skeleton grin. Clothed he was with sunless jewel and dim gold, crown and collars doing nothing to allay the horror of his presence. At his hand was a ring and on his chest a symbol of blasphemy. Some, perhaps most would have called him horrid to look at. These ones didn’t care for a bit.

They were a fine rabble, these ones. Made for nice cultists when you took care of gathering them and enlightening them to the true nature of the universe.

Most of them were victims. That was no surprise. They were victims and couldn’t deny their nature f being attracted to the things who would eventually kill them. Like moths to the bright flame, they were drawn to death and degradation, without even knowing why. He, who called himself Niegel in his own private joke on the rest of mankind, knew why. They hungered, like all life for the great silence and the great absence. For what is the purpose of life but to grease the gears of death and feed the hungry maw forever and ever?

None of them were saints. Those who ran with the Joker shared bread with his victims, each commiserating on the unfairness of life. Others gangsters and others victims understood each other. They got the joke of life and that joke led them to him. Of course that hadn’t been done in the shortest amount of time but Niegel didn’t care. The hunger of his lords could be sated in so many entertaining ways and this cult was a little vanity from his part. Death and Rot have all the supplicants and all the sacrifices they need after all. And what one does give them, they take without appeal. Still their ministers were due worship, they were done

Anger took him while he thought of his masters. Great powers of the universe they were. So important their impotent successors dared not extinguish their lives in fear of endangering the world. Yet they had not reconsidered their foolish rebellion, not considered that sometimes your betters have the right to do what they want, what they need for the good of all. They had driven their betters, their parents to dismal Tartarus, chained them in the dark dank center of the universe, mutilated them to exact oaths from their bloodied lips and called it justice.

Niegel cursed thrice the name of all the gods that were ever be and nine times the wretched so-called Guardian of the Universe who opposed the great absence. There were no innocents in this great war and most of life had chosen the wrong side, the side of base revolt, the side of the gods and their cronies rather than the rightful masters of the cosmos. So life had to be destroyed, extinguished then remade in the Titan’s own awesome image. At least that was what some of the old guard thought. Niegel knew better for his lords knew better. Life had been a mistake and the only way for the Titans to rule as forces of nature once more was to bring all that breathed under the dominion of Xibalba that was Death. Niegel thought it would please everyone, for in each living thing he heard the desire for oblivion and in sentient life this drive was the most present.

He knew the gods that usurped his lords’ mastery over the sunless lands had a champion. He laughed thinking about it. What could such a castrated being, hobbled by the petty limitations of the gods themselves do against him who was empowered by the very Place of Terror? He praised his lords with all his dead heart for they animated the body he lived in; but the source of his powers was greater than even them. He was a faithful servant of eternal rot and the great absence, embodying all the aspect of death and misfortune then unleashed upon an undeserving world.

He still laughed when he raised from his place and walked among his faithful. They were few, perhaps twenty but each of them had been broken and remade into a perfect instrument. They didn’t comment on his ragged appearance, didn’t stop to consider the bony skull and slimy bones. They knew the symbolic and worshipped him as an emissary of the lands beyond, one who could make their revenge on the world a reality. He ached to indulge them, to let them become the focus of his power, to let their lives be used in the pursuit of a greater goal.

Others among the Titans would have done the most direct thing, the most idiotic thing. They would have crafted a warrior and send him loose to kill the gods. Not only was that very unlikely considering the forces that the traitors had at their disposal but that was too good. The gods deserved to die in fear, to see their worshippers dwindle, to be reminded of all they weren’t able of. And what was true of the pagan powers was even truer for this new pantheon of living divinities. They could deny their fate all the way, that didn’t make them less divine and less deserving of punishment. A warrior? They could have destroyed any warrior eventually but what he was going to do? No living gods would interfere.

Niegel he had called himself from half-remembered memories. He remembered the corpse-crow so bloated he couldn’t fly anymore, the great living garden and the fathering way it talked to visitors. Master of plagues he had been created and plague would cleanse this world of the tyranny of life. What could heroes do against blood-drenched lungs and failing hearts? What could strength do against such unseen enemies? Nothing, they could do nothing.

He smiled at his disciples who walked to him, who walked smiling to smiling death. From their flesh he would craft his instrument, he would summon worms, winds and rats to bring his gift to every mortal in the city, to make it sleep until the inhabitants could bring it to every corner of the world. Then he would begin again and again and again, in other cities, in other countries until death held dominion over all things. That would be a long task but an easy one. He would succeed. He swore it on the jet ring he wore on his finger.

Praise to Nirrti firstborn of the Ocean of Milk, mistress of misfortune and keeper of corpses. By her leave he was given breath and shielding from the eyes of fate.

Praise to Astovidad, dissolver of bones who teach humanity there is no point in death and no hope in a kind fate. By his leave he was given a body and mastery over luck

Praise to Hun and Vucub Came, who teach even the gods the lessons of death when life becomes so fruitful it dares to strike death’s door. By their leave he was given command of the armies of death.

Praise be to Thanatos who, even to the gods, remind they too will one day be dust and bones. By his leave he was given to move in the blink of an eye.

Praise be to Nekron who is the great absence and the darkness before creation and will be the silence once more. By his leave he was given his ring more powerful than lightning, iron and the very gods.

And before all. Praise to Xibalba the land and the consciousness. Praise to death beyond death and rot beyond rot, for it holds the key to mastery over all things.


	58. Episode 5: Feathered Serpent : Part 1

Episode 5: Feathered Serpent : Part 1  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JULY,22, 2010, 11.00 AM

I know a bribe and a stalling attempt when I see them and this one is not particulary subtle. Still I can’t deny it’s efficient. The League gives with one hand, all the while telling me to wait for their debates to end with the others. I’m not even sure they see it as stalling me. Perhaps it’s simply they debated of these issues already and give me the greenlight the moment they approve of my actions. Still, this is already very good for my projects.

Two gifts they gave me in contacting me this morning. The first is they took notice of my reports on Timothy Hunter and did their investigative work. They agreed with my suggestions and now the boy’s father is waiting to be cared for by a charity run by Waynetech enterprises. The fact that young Tim will attend a school near one of the rare English Zeta Beam arrival point was not disclosed. That’ll enable Zattara and me to train the boy in the art of magic. No offense to the Fair Folk but I don’t trust them to not simply take the Opener’s power for themselves. Titania was not very happy to promise to ensure the boy would stay on Earth but she and Tamlin owed me huge boons for the killing of the Manticore, the avenging of their subjects, and the saving of their beloved son.

The second gift is a poisonous but a happy one. They told me they trusted me with updating the Cave’s defenses. Of course the fact this work will keep me busy for the rest of the day while they continue to debate the modalities of enabling me to preach has nothing to do with their eager permission. Yet I cannot resist the urge to secure our headquarters further. Not only my comrades deserve the increased security but I admit I’m eager to see to what extend I can make a place holy.

Of course the Team can find some of my practices distasteful. I was happy to find a farmer willing to sell a young black lamb rather than buy the carcass from a slaughterhouse but my comrades are glaring at me with angry gazes. I’ll never understand the attachment people get to animals, especially animals whose sole purpose is to be butchered for food. Comes to think of it, perhaps I should have told them we’re going to eat lamb meat for at least the next three days. The animal I purchased is not the fattest in the market but still weights his 50 kilos. I wonder how much of this is edible meat. In the worst case I will cook what the Team doesn’t want and distribute it to my Gotham’s cult. They should be quite happy with my gift. Lamb is not the usual meat they give in soup kitchens or even the poor eat.

Superboy is eying me with the same glare as the others. Come on guy! You helped me transport the dumb animal. You know it’s not sentient. Didn’t Superman brought you to your grandparents in Kansas? I suppose even for heroes, it’s easy to forget where the meat in your plates comes from. I haven’t this problem but I know I’m not in the majority. Also Dick and Wally, stop looking at me as if I’m going to murder a puppy. It’s a lamb. It’s not like last week when I cooked you a rabbit and forgot that in the U.S it’s a pet and not a pest.

Still they seemed to understood when I explained the purpose of the sacrifice. It’s a lamb mostly because I’m not willing to go to the hassle of bringing a cow here. It’s black because I sacrifice to the gods of the underworld. The great bottles are for the blood I will use in my magic. I haven’t a knife out yet because if the beast sees it, the meat will go bad. I don’t know if that’s particular bit is true but I’m not going to waste valuable meat.

The sacrifice proper lasts only a few minutes. The time for me to name each of my patrons in this central room and consecrate the animal in their name. Tamlin awarded me a faerie knife for his son’s life, it’s not iron but it’s sharper than any blade I ever saw. I discovered my burgeoning power over health enable me some knowledge about anatomy. The lamb bleats only once as I slice the main arteries and leaves him bleed out. I hold it as gently as I can as I collect perhaps half of its blood for the writing of sigils and leave the rest to cool on the floor or anoint my comrades’ brow with it. I hear M’gann whisper on “Why does that have to be blood”.

Because blood is the life, there is no sacrifice of life, without sheeding of blood.

The rest of the work is grisly and long even with a supernaturally sharp knife. This is a part of the ancient sacrifices I always loved but I never imagined how much work it required. The fat and the bones, broken for marrow first, are for the gods and I’ll burn them. The rest, visceras and meat and skin is for us to consume in fellowship. I doubt any butcher worth his name would appreciate my work. Indeed, I can almost hear my big brother back home admonish me for my sloppiness. Still I manage to put perhaps half the animal’s weight for us.

All the while I do that I sing softly about the gods and above the sacredness of their places of worship. My comrades can consider the practice barbarian but I name us as faithful worshippers, taking refuge in the great gods’ ability to protect our homes. I earnestly pray for this endeavor to end well:

“Great lords and among them great Supay who devours the dead and rules over earth and cold stone. Allow me to claim this place as one of our own and regard it as part of your great kingdoms. Let these halls to be hallowed and who would bear violence against them be marked as impure in Your sight. Let us rest easy in your new temple. Many among you I name lord of justice and it’s justice we bring to this world. Many among you I name lords of growing and I invite to look favorably on our gardens. As I am both temple, idol and high priest let me put your blessing on this mountain and its inhabitants”

And seemingly I am granted my wish for the lamb’s blood is glowing faintly now and coalescing in a mandala of runes. I look at them and know the first stage of my endeavor has been completed for these are runes of warding, of barriers raised against blasphemer, of bans and prohibition and pleas for sacrifice. The part of the lamb destined to the gods spontaneously combust, rendered down to nectar and ambrosia for my master;

There’s already a change in the air and I didn’t need to channel the gods for that. I know they look at me with favor and express their approval in claiming this place for their worship. I sense a gate in me opening and power surging without any prompting on my part. It’s stings when it courses through my veins but I know Supay listened to my prayer.

For I hear the Mountain sings with barely contained power, now a link between the world of mortals and the gods down under. I know it’ll grant power in exchange of sacrifices of blood, vegetables or possession, for me, my comrades or any mortal approaching this place with respect. Well at least that went well. I smile while requisitioning Jonathan to help me transport the rest of the meat to the kitchen.

“So how did you find your first animal sacrifice? Also, lunch is in two hours, kebab with French fries and greens.”

I notice that Wallace is apparently able to look both hungry and disgusted. That’s a strange expression.


	59. Episode 5: Feathered Serpent: Part 2

Episode 5: Feathered Serpent: Part 2  
MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JULY,22, 2010, 1.00 PM

I hear the song of the Mountain and it’s wonderful. If there’s a part of my gift I love above all else, it’s this link to the elements of the world. Holding the power to heal, to destroy, to control the dead is nice but it doesn’t change you the way hearing the silent dreams of trees and stones. True power is not always simple action but perhaps firstly what opens your eyes to a whole new world. Never as a mortal man I would have imagined the world around me could make such music, to be used to such extent. Now my eyes are open and I rejoice in the sight and the music.

Feeling such magic in my ears and on my skin is even better than the taste of lamb in my mouth. And gods know this beast was of excellent quality. I can feel it melting in my mouth and I know I’m not so great a cook to save poor meat. I could do without the sense of mute melancholy however. Cooking was the province of my late father and my big brother and each taste of truly good food reminds me of home. Not as much as it should but I suspect that, as my disgust of death was lessened, true nostalgia was muted by the powers who chose me. I am and I will remain for all my stay here, as they remade me.

Not that I complain. They erased many blemishes of my body when they forged me anew. A month after and I still sometimes miss the familiar weight of my glasses on my eyes. As for the rest, they didn’t touch the part of my brain that won’t stop fidgeting and thinking and breaking boundaries but they destroyed my other handicap. It was so sudden it took two weeks for me to notice the increase in my gestures’ precision and agility. Now the sense of marvel has not passed and I savor it while I can. I praise my masters to have bettered me in every way.

Conversation goes its merry way along the table in predictable patterns. For all their disgust for my sacrifice, they are quick to change the subject and were quicker to understand. They don’t hear the slow rumble of the awakened mountain, but they feel the change in the air, they feel the power bestowed upon them because they accepted the sacrifice and now partake in the meat of the gods. I smile with disgusting sweetness looking at them. I’ve grown protective of these brats. M’gann and Jonathan needed and still need the most of my attention to help them navigate this new world, but Wally, Dick and Kaldur don’t deserve to die to any of the dangers that stalk the dark nights. If I have any say in this they won’t die at all but will join me in whatever reward the gods have in store for me.

Part of me is still angry against their mentors. None of this team should be on the battlefield, let alone operating covert missions without hope of reward or recognition. Still I’m now a bit more used to the idea. Not to the point to not wrap them in the same layers of protection than our home, not to the point to not worry but still I’m more used to in than when I arrived. Still as long as I’m there, there will be rewards and prizes for those children who put their life in service to the greater good.

I want them to accompany me in my great work. I want them to at my side while I preach, to be presented as divine themselves and receive the worship that is their due. Yes they are young, they make mistakes out of pride and foolishness. They have much to learn but the world still has a debt to them as it has now a debt to me. If they go in the world, taking their part of the burden, part of the danger, they should have their share of the glory, share of the spotlight. Anything less would be a disgrace to the sacrifice of their innocence.

The conversation went back at me, or about me for all the difference that it makes. They are joking like the teens they are about the sigil in blood on their heads. The sigil that is only now drying up. I reassure them it’s not permanent, just a little version of a security cards, to help them navigate the layers of wards I will continue to lay on this place, to let them pass without needing my express permission. I’m not surprised Dick to notice what I don’t say:

“If the creepy marks serves us to access the center of the Cave, does the League still has access to it?”

My smile is positively creepy in its width as I answer : “No. They don’t anymore. The Cave is ours and it’s quite time you had room to yourselves. I can let them pass obviously but they still register in the alarms. And that’s just the beginning.”

Kaldur, always the most responsible of the bunch risks: “The beginning. You are intending to make more changes?”

“Of course. I always wanted to run a dungeon” considering their faces a moment “Minds out of the gutter young perverts. I mean a video-game dungeon. I can’t get the League to approve the sphere of annihilation or the legions of undead but I can get away with a few creatures. And to tell the truth” My smile disappears even if I try to keep the tone a jolly one: “This is mostly a test run to see if supernatural creatures can prosper in the confines of these temples I can build. The cave will stay state of the art but I don’t see why the creatures from beyond should be confined in the other worlds. The faeries are already returning to the flesh world after all.”

They all, even M’gann turn a nice shade of red when hearing that. The mentors remained evasive but it seems some of the fairies took upon themselves to console them of my untimely demise. They didn’t do the dirty deed of course with Batman and Wonder Woman watching but they seemed quite besotted by the nobles of the Fair Folk. I understand them all too well and don’t blame them a bit. After all, I already asked the Cluracan if he was up to a post of ambassador to Earth and promised to introduce him to Las Vegas. Come to think of it, didn’t Titania implied Las Vegas and Dubaï would become prime visiting places for the fae?

“Speaking of temples.” intervene Wally, surely to avoid further embarrassment “What are you exactly going to preach. I mean you can’t be all “THE GODS OF DEATH ARE BACK, BOW DOWN OR DIE!” all the time”

“This is a very good question. I thought once I would simply revive the old ways but people have already proven they were more prone to worship a serial rapist like Zeus than the overworked lord of the Underworld. So I decided on the package deal. The pantheon of the death gods, each associated with another thing than death.” Curiously there’s very few concepts not embodied by my patrons. The Stars and Moon are the only things really absent and seriously who want to pray the moon these days?

“Anyway people will swallow anything if it’s backed by miracles and run with their own justifications. I have simply to prove my patrons can intervene in their worshippers’ lives for the better and voila you have a new religion” They look doubtful but I continue this time in full joke mode. “I mean, the League has no divine powers and I still could cook up a First Church of the Flash or a Temple of Avenging Batman with no problem.”

Actually I’m very surprised it doesn’t exist already. There’s material on the Justice League, fansites and the like but no shrines or anything like that. I’ve talked to the League and they say they didn’t have this problem. They had to expand more efforts crashing companies making porn of them than cults. They had some but only for some members. Batman has a gang of imitators but his Rogues’ Gallery too. This is very surprising but I suppose this world follow different rules and all.

“So I’m continuing to ward the shit out of this place this afternoon, then anyone want to go with me bribe a televangelist?”

No guys, this is not funny. I’m totally serious. I’m even sure it will be very easy and have no negative consequences at all. After all nothing say religious fad like live sermons on the cable.


End file.
